A Beautiful Lie
by MaybeMayba
Summary: As the threat of Voldemort grows, Harry does his best to prepare for their inevitable showdown. At Dumbledore's side, Harry travels through the mysteries of the past and the conflicts of the present, all while growing into the wizard he was destined to be. The life of the Chosen One is not what he expected, as new challenges and the weight of war test his strength of will.
1. Chapter 1

**Edit (2018/10/26): Reviews contain spoilers, you've been warned. The story is divergent from the beginning of book six, with a few inserted** **changes from the earlier years, and will eventually be majorly AU.**

For many it was just another day in Little Whinging, Surrey. This summer hadn't been uncharacteristically hot unlike the last, but it still was much warmer than usual. Couples of all ages, and families of various sizes took advantage of one of the last truly warm days, as summer was drawing to close. Laughter rang throughout the streets as some of the younger children in the neighborhood chased each other, playing some type of childish game they must have learnt in the playground at school.

As this laughter travelled into a small, sparsely decorated room in number 4 Privet Drive a small smile graced the lips of a certain raven haired teen. Smiles were a rare thing for the young man whenever he spent time in this immaculately kept house, for there were few happy memories for him within these walls. As a result of recent events, any sort of smile was exceedingly rare for him. After being played like a fiddle, and indirectly causing the death of his beloved godfather, Harry Potter had been made to look like a fool. However, his night of horrors did not stop there, for immediately after losing the single most important person in his life, the bespectacled teenager was finally informed on a matter that should have been revealed to him years before.

Despite this, a smile graced his lips for the first time in weeks. Children always brought a smile to his face. Maybe it was hearing the joy of childhood and the love of their parents, which was something that he was never able to experience. Perhaps it was their innocence from the darkness in the world, something that he himself was exposed to at such a young age.

But, there was another a reason for his smile as well. Today was the last day he would be spending at Privet Drive until next summer. His headmaster, the one who's office he had destroyed weeks earlier, was coming to take him away from his temporary residence.

It had taken a few weeks, but his anger directed towards Professor Dumbledore had simmered down. He no longer had the uncontrollable urge to curse the old wizard, and he had come to terms with several of his more… _questionable_ decisions in regards to Harry's life. The blood-wards surrounding the Dursley's residence were some of the most powerful protections available and considering it was only meant as a temporary protection, it made them all the more impressive. _Sirius_ , the name still pained Harry, was never meant to be thrown into Azkaban and the Longbottom's were never supposed to be tortured into insanity, and custody over Harry was meant to be passed over to either of them after the Ministry gained a semblance of control following the initial fall of Voldemort. Obviously, it did not go according to plan and Dumbledore had to improvise. That did _not_ excuse the treatment he endured living here for years, but that was just water under the bridge between Harry and his Headmaster. In regards to the dreaded prophecy that now hung over his head, Harry could agree to disagree with Dumbledore. He would have much rather known what he would someday face, but Dumbledore's _attempt_ for him to live a relatively normal childhood was a nice thought even though it completely failed.

It's not like he could have started training immediately after he first picked up his wand and turned into some super-powered wizard weapon by the time he took his OWLs. Harry scoffed internally at the thought. One thing that he had learnt in his time in the Wizarding World was that magic took time to settle. There was a reason why children were unable to start their official magical education until the age of 11, and there was a reason they took their OWLs in 5th year and their NEWTs in 7th. Magic was free flowing and a power that no witch or wizard would truly ever understand. One needed to take time to develop their magic, expand their knowledge, hone their control and skill. It was not a switch that one could flick and suddenly turn themselves into a wizard of Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, Grindelwald, or Nicholas Flamel's calibre. Sure there were certain wizards, like himself, who were born with an extraordinary amount of magical power. Driving away hundreds of dementors away with one spell and summoning a broomstick from miles away could attest to that, but truly harnessing this power was a journey in itself. Something that Harry had only just begun.

Harry sighed as turned to look at a small nightstand next to his equally small bed, taking a look at one of Dudley's old watches that he had nicked. He noted that he still had a few hours before his escort would arrive in the evening.

Harry always took joy whenever telling his relatives that some of 'his kind' would be coming to pick him up. Vernon's face always turns an unhealthy shade of purple, Petunia's hands start shaking as if she's expecting the ghost of Lily Evans-Potter to pop out of nowhere, and Dudley slowly backs himself into a corner while covering the spot where he had Hagrid's tail removed. It was comical that despite their obvious fear of magic, they would try to make it seem as if they were in control of the situation. As if the walrus-man, Vernon Dursley, had any say in what someone like Albus Dumbledore could or could not do. Then after a few hours of ignoring the situation, the realization that wizards were on their way would send them into a panic. They would quickly come up with some 'fancy' or 'very important' event that they just could not miss attending, before fleeing the house. Harry wouldn't admit this to Dumbledore or the Order as they wouldn't like this, except for Tonks, but on a few occasions when he had wanted to be alone in the house he told his relatives that 'his kind' were coming over just to get them to leave.

Deciding to treat himself one final time before leaving, Harry went downstairs and threw on the telly and made himself a sandwich from the leftover food found in the fridge. Harry sat and flipped through the channels not looking for anything in particular. Staying at Hogwarts for 10 months out of the year and never being allowed to watch when he was younger, prevented Harry from following any shows. He just enjoyed listening to something other than his own breathing and watching the pictures move, it reminded him of the paintings at Hogwarts that he would be seeing in about two weeks' time.

Noticing how much time had passed when he glanced at a clock on the far wall of the Dursley's living room, he headed upstairs to pack his school trunk. Over the years he had bought a few nicer pieces of clothing to replace Dudley's old cast-offs, so he threw those into his trunk. It suddenly dawned on him that he grew another couple of inches over the summer, so he made a mental note to buy some more clothing when they stopped by Diagon Alley for their schoolbooks. He packed his telescope, potion supplies, the Marauders Map, and a few other things he thought he'd need for the coming year. Closing his trunk, he strapped his father's old wand holster that was gifted to Harry last Christmas from Sirius and slipped his holly wand into it.

Taking a seat on the small cot he had been sleeping on for the past 5 years, Harry's mind shifted towards memories of Sirius. Sirius carried a certain presence and charisma that could just brighten a room. It was that roguish charm that people always talked about, something that unfortunately wasn't seen all too often in the time Harry had known him. Azkaban had done a number on him, and hiding out in the Forbidden Forest, living in a cave for a year, and then immediately moving into his childhood house of horrors did nothing to help his mental health. But despite that, there was always a flicker of amusement, excitement, and… _love_ behind his haunted grey eyes whenever he spent time with Harry. Nothing brightened the animagus up more than spending time with his godson, telling stories of his exploits around Hogwarts with the rest of the Marauders; and nothing brought a tear to his eye quicker than reminiscing his time spent with James Potter. That was the man's greatest regret in life, not being able to save his brother in all but blood and failing to take care of Harry as he had sworn to as his godfather.

Shaking these sad thoughts from his head, Harry wiped a few of the stray tears that escaped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, before getting up off his bed. Taking his invisibility cloak and folding it into his pocket, he went to visit his first friend.

"Hey girl, I'm going to let you out," he called out, "I know that you're probably just dying to stretch you wings after being stuck here with me for weeks."

Hedwig bobbed her head and gave a bark of affirmation towards his statement. Immediately after Harry opened her cage door, Hedwig hopped up onto his shoulder and nuzzled his neck.

"I know, I know, I love you too," Harry laughed at his owl's antics, "Professor Dumbledore will be here soon and is going to take me away, so when I let you out you don't need to come back here. You can fly over to the Weasley's, let them know that I'm on my way."

Hedwig puffed out her chest in preparation of this seemingly important job.

"You do know where the Weasley's live right?" Harry joked.

All he got in response was a cuff over the head by her wing and a look that questioned his sanity.

"I was kidding Hedwig," Harry laughed as he rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head, "there isn't a smarter owl out there. Actually… sometimes I think you might even be smarter than Ron."

He got another bark in response, but this one sounded as if she was insulted for being compared to his red headed friend.

"Yeah well maybe we'll set up a chess game between the two of you when I finally get to the Burrow."

Harry instantly regretted coming up with the idea as he spotted the predatory gleam of excitement that came over Hedwig's amber eyes. In all honesty, Harry would actually pay a few galleons to see that chess match happen. The only thing that worried him was the fact that he was fairly certain Hedwig would win the match. Harry was convinced that given half a chance, his owl could very easily take over the world.

"I bet Hedwig could fulfill the prophecy without a problem, maybe she's the power that he knows not… now isn't that an idea," Harry mumbled to himself. "Alright girl it's time to go, I will see you in a few hours," Harry bade Hedwig goodbye as she leapt off his arm and disappeared into the night.

Harry dragged his trunk out of his room and down the stairs to the front door of the house. He checked his watch to see that it had just hit 10:00 o'clock, and immediately after an almost inaudible _crack_ came from outside, followed by a knock on the door in the rhythm of Hogwarts' school anthem. Right on time. Harry was a person who leaned on being chronically late to almost everything in his life, so he was always impressed by those who kept in time. Harry opened the door to see his headmaster dressed in familiar indigo robes with twinkling stars and a matching pointed wizards hat. What caught Harry's attention was a black glove that covered one of his hands.

"Hello Headmaster, a new fashion sense?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow as he led the man into the empty house.

"Ah, I see you have noticed my latest accessory. I had found that my wardrobe as of late had become too predictable and I thought I might take a risk and change it up," he responded playfully, "I do hope that you approve."

"I think it fits you quite well, sir. If anyone could pull it off it would be you."

"Thank you Harry, but it seems you are the only one who does. Both Minerva and Severus think it is a little to…," Dumbledore paused to think, twirling his long white beard in his non-gloved hand, " _fashion forward_ , I think would be an appropriate term. But I paid them no mind, it is always nice to change things up once in a while when you get to my age." A sad look flashed across his usually twinkling blue eyes after he spoke, but it disappeared before Harry could notice. "But alas, I did not travel all this way to discuss fashion with you my boy. We have places to go and people to see this evening, and I'm sure the Weasley's would appreciate it if I did not arrive at too late of an hour."

"Yes of course, sir, I'm ready to leave when you are. But, I still have my school trunk here with me-" Harry was cut off by Dumbledore tapping his wand on the trunk causing it to immediately disappear.

"Your trunk shall be awaiting your arrival," he informed Harry. "Now I believe it is time for us to depart your relative's house and start this evenings activities," he continued as they left number 4 Privet Drive. Dumbledore stopped at the end of the walkway leading up to the house and searched the surrounding area with his eyes. Seeing nothing, he pulled out a gold pocket watch that contained more dials and arms than necessary and held his arm out, "Grab hold Harry, we are on a tight schedule." The moment Harry grabbed hold of the aged wizard's sleeve, they disappeared from Surrey with a soft _crack_.

In the split second it took the two of them to travel, Harry felt as if he had been pulled through a garden hose while simultaneously having an elephant trod on his stomach. It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life, further cementing how much he detested magical transportation. Harry had heard about apparition and how it took time to get used to the unique feeling, but nobody told him that it would make him want to throw up his dinner.

"Side-a-long apparition Harry, not everyone's favorite mode of transportation. I am quite impressed that you managed to hold your stomach."

"Barely," Harry wheezed in response.

"I do apologize for not giving you fair warning, but as I said before we are on a tight schedule," Dumbledore immediately set off in the direction of a street that ran parallel to a small park. Harry jogged to catch up with Dumbledore's long strides as the man moved rather quick for somebody who had lived for over a century.

"Why are we here, sir?" Harry questioned, as his mind was running through different reasons why Dumbledore would bring him to a small village in the middle of the night.

"We are heading out for a job interview with a potential candidate for one of the teaching positions at the school this year, and you are here to provide a second opinion," he responded with his trademark twinkle in his eyes.

"If we're here to hire a new professor then why are we in such a rush?" Harry asked still not understanding what was going on and why there were doing this so late in the evening.

"Ah, well the prospective professor is not the easiest man to get a hold of, he has a habit of changing locations and hiding out in places that are hard to find. And between you and me Harry," Dumbledore looked at him with a mischievous smirk, "he doesn't know that he is about to be interviewed." Harry understood what they were doing now, this was one of Dumbledore's schemes. He had almost forgotten that despite his innocent grandfatherly appearance, Dumbledore was a seasoned politician who could run with the best Slytherin house had to offer.

An awkward silence fell between the two for the first time that evening, and Harry's mind wandered to his last meeting with the Headmaster. Harry was certain that Dumbledore was also recollecting the event. "Umm, Sir…" Harry started to speak.

Dumbledore raised his gloved-hand to cut him off, "Say no more Harry, if anyone should be apologizing it should be me." Harry tried to speak up but was interrupted again, "I spoke true my boy, I cannot blame you for reacting the way you did. You certainly had the right to do so, especially with how I handled the situation. I should have shared the prophecy with you years ago, and sharing it with you after such an emotional and tragic night was unforgiveable of me. I sincerely hope that you could ease an old man's heart and forgive me," Dumbledore stated looking his true age for the first time that evening.

"Of course I forgive you, sir," Harry responded immediately with a smile. Despite the major speedbump their relationship had recently hit, the man had done so much for Harry. Harry wasn't a fool, he realized that Dumbledore had deceived him in the past and likely still had plans for him, but he felt genuine affection for Dumbledore and believed that the feeling was mutual.

Dumbledore sighed in relief and new life seemed to enter his body, "That means more to me than you could imagine," he replied honestly. "Besides, I think it was about time my office received a makeover. I have become somewhat of a hoarder over the last couple of decades and Minerva has been telling me to get rid of my junk for years. Your actions saved me hours of sitting and debating with myself over which trinket was more useless than the next. I think I may replace them with what muggles call a lava lamp, apparently they are quite relaxing, it would certainly give my office a new look; and sometimes a new look is all that it takes to solve our problems in life."

Harry just smiled at how Dumbledore could go from his eccentric rambling one second, to sharing words of wisdom the next. It was a pleasant walk in the dark that the two were partaking in, as the lingering heat from the day had yet to disappear. But once again Harry started to wonder why they were walking all this way if Dumbledore could have just apparated them directly to the house.

As if reading his mind Dumbledore answered his question, "I find that talking a nice walk every now and then helps clear the mind and soothe the soul. But if you were wondering why we did not arrive directly at the house Harry, that would be because I do not wish to trip any alarms or magical precautions that good old Horace might have placed. He was always quite the clever fellow."

Understanding Dumbledore's reasoning, Harry still wondered why they risked walking completely exposed. "But what if we are attacked?"

"There is no need to worry about your safety Harry, they would not risk approaching us," Harry did not need any clarification at who _they_ were as wild cackling and Voldemort's inhuman voice still haunted his dreams. "If I could be so humble," Dumbledore elaborated, "it would be because I am here." After Dumbledore's epic duel with Voldemort, Harry knew that truer words had never been spoken.

The pair continued their walk for a few minutes until Harry shivered as he felt a slight tingle at the back of his neck, as they approached a non-descript brick house with weeds poking out of the lawn at random intervals. "Those were wards that we had just passed," Dumbledore slowed his pace, "it is quite impressive that you managed to sense their presence, Harry. Many competent adult wizards are incapable of doing what you just did. I myself only developed the ability at an age quite a few years older than you are now," he explained. "Wands out Harry," Dumbledore suddenly spoke in a serious manner as he drew a rather unique looking wand from his twinkling robes, "I do not expect any danger, but one can never be too careful," he added as he unconsciously flexed his gloved hand.

Harry slowly crept into the house behind Dumbledore, and immediately he noticed something was wrong. It wasn't the broken furniture, shattered glass, or blood splayed across the wall, something just felt… _off_ to him about the situation. As Dumbledore systematically casted various detection spells around the house and even tasted some of the blood that had pooled on the floor, Harry took his time and examined the parlour. As he continued to look around the room, Harry figured out what was bothering him. Everything seemed too convenient. The door had been left wide open, there was way too much blood in the house, furniture and glass was broken everywhere you would expect it to be, but there were areas of the house that seemed untouched. As Harry approached one of those areas he found a series of magical photographs sitting on a wooden cabinet. They depicted students of all houses posing at some sort of dinner party with a round-bellied professor who had a walrus mustache not unlike the one Vernon had. However, that was where the similarities between the two ended as the man in the photos looked to be too jolly to be anything like Vernon. Right next to the photographs was a large, pink armchair that looked to have several odd lumps sticking out of it.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry called, "I think I found our missing candidate."

As Dumbledore approached Harry and the odd chair, a small smile graced his face, "Yes I believe you did my boy, might I say your skills in deduction are admirable. I believe this rouse has gone on long enough Horace, it would be rude not to join us," Dumbledore spoke to the chair before poking it with his wand.

The pink chair immediately began to unfold and collapse on itself, revealing an older and rounder version of the man Harry saw in the photographs. "Merlin's beard Albus, there was no need to stab me with your wand," he complained while rubbing his belly. "What gave me away?" he asked curiously.

"For me, I know you to well Horace to be fooled by your deceptions. That tends to happen after working together with someone for over 50 years. It was that and the use of dragon's blood instead of human's, though I would be concerned if you were carrying around vials of human blood," Dumbledore explained before pointing at his young companion, "For Harry over there, I believe he put to use his skills in observation and deduction. The boy has found himself in quite a few dangerous situations over the years, his instincts tend to be correct."

"Everything looked a little bit too convenient, sir," Harry explained, "there was massive amounts of destruction in some areas, but then the area you placed all of your photographs was practically untouched. Also, your chair disguise was a little lumpy."

"That blasted upholstery," he scolded himself, "I knew I did a poor job on it, but I just didn't have the time. My alert went off whilst I was soaking in the tub, I can tell you that it was quite the hectic 20 seconds while I was preparing this," he continued as he started repairing the room to the state it was before the damage. After admiring his work, Slughorn took a seat on a recliner and opened a container of what was apparently crystalized pineapple, something that Harry had never heard of.

"You always had a flair for the dramatics Horace, but I would imagine this performance was not prepared for us this evening," Dumbledore started up as he moved to introduce the main reason for their visit.

Popping another piece of pineapple into his mouth, Slughorn swallowed before replying, "As much as I know you appreciate the dramatics Albus, no, it was not for you. I've taken to moving around every other week, finding different empty homes of muggles who have gone on vacation. It's not the most convenient way of living, but its comfortable enough and most importantly... its safe. I've gotten too old to attend recruitment parties and I have never felt urge to play dress up," he finished bitterly. "I know what you are doing Albus, and the answer is still no. As I said before, my life is comfortable enough at the moment and I don't feel like openly stating my allegiances at this point."

"Horace, there is no need to state any allegiances. All I ask is for you to return to your old post and teach the children your passion, you know there is no safer pla- _gggrrrppp_ …" Dumbledore was interrupted by his own stomach. "Pardon me, but something I ate must not have agreed with me. Could you tell me where the washroom is Horace?"

"Yes, yes, it's down the hall and to the right," he instructed as he pointed down a hallway that led out of the room. As Dumbledore left the room, Slughorn released a deep sigh and rubbed his head in a tired manner. "As much as I respect the man, he tires me out like no other," he muttered to nobody in particular. A tense silence fell upon the room as Slughorn remained in the recliner and Harry stood awkwardly in the corner of the room not knowing what to say. Slughorn slowly peered around the room until his gaze fell upon Harry, "Oh! Sorry my boy, you must forgive my poor manners. In the madness of the last hour I have completely forgotten to introduce myself," he said as he pushed himself up off of the recliner, "my name is Horace Slughorn, potion's master and former professor of Hogwarts. And you are?"

'Potions Master?' Harry thought to himself. Did that mean that Dumbledore wanted him to teach potions again, but what about Snape… _oh no._ Harry tried his best to stay away from the disturbing thoughts and images that accompanied Snape as the defense professor, and instead focused on the man in front of him, "Harry, sir. Harry Potter. It is a pleasure to meet you," he replied as he extended a hand to shake.

Slughorn hesitated for just one moment as he gave Harry an indistinguishable look, "Yes…" he started to himself, "of course you are my boy! It's an honour to meet you Mr. Potter," this time he spoke out loud as he gave Harry a firm handshake. "You've got a firm grip there Harry my boy, but that must come with being the youngest seeker in a century wouldn't it," he laughed jovially. "A Quidditch star just like your father, though I must admit I did not know him all that well. But you have her eyes, there is no question about that. I should have known immediately that you were her son, how silly of me," he continued as he looked at Harry with what appeared to be tenderness.

The moment was cut short as he quickly dragged Harry over to the photographs he kept with an energy that Harry was surprised he possessed, "Just take a look here my boy. These are all of my star students that I taught over the years, each and every one of them had the potential to be great. Mind you not all of them were great at potions, but they were all special in their own right. I tried my best to get your father out to my little get-togethers, but that boy was wild. Always off creating some sort of chaos, and its one of my regrets that I did not get to know him better, because he was one of the most talented wizards I had seen in years," hearing his father being spoken about in such a way from a seemingly well-connected and important man brought a smile to Harry's face, "now this here is Regulus Black," Slughorn continued as he pointed to boy who looked startlingly similar to Sirius. Sirius had only ever mentioned his brother once and the moment he did his eyes took on a haunted look that Harry associated with Azkaban, needless to say he was never brought up again. "A seeker just like you, but I'm sure you knew that by where he is sitting in the team photograph. His brother Sirius was the only one that I never had in my house, I nearly completed the set," he joked as he looked off to the distance, getting lost in the memories of the past.

"You were the head of house for Slytherin!?" Harry was shocked.

"Yes, yes of course! I was the Slytherin head of house for almost 50 years before I retired, I believe young Severus has taken up the position," seeing the look of disgust on Harry's face at the mention of the man caused Slughorn to chuckle, "oh yes, he was a troubled boy back when he went to school as well, but truly brilliant. I believe I have a picture of him somewhere," he said as he looked through the rows of photographs, "he was definitely one of the best potions students I have ever taught, utterly brilliant with a cauldron… not to mention, a close friend of your mothers," he added with a smirk.

Time suddenly stopped as Harry's world screeched to a halt. If Harry would have looked at himself in the mirror, he would have seen how his jaw almost hit the floor. _Snape_ was _friends_ with his _mother_. How? That was the million galleon question that was repeating itself in his mind.

"Shocking as it may be, it is true. Despite being placed in rival houses, the two remained good friends over the years. Your mother herself was incredible at brewing as well, but as a team they were unstoppable. Sadly over time they grew apart and eventually they no longer spoke to each other, I never found out why, but then again it wasn't any of my business anyways," he explained. "I fear I may have imploded your brain my boy," Slughorn let out a deep laugh at seeing the frozen expression of disbelief on Harry's face. "Here is something that might just cheer you up," Slughorn said as he gently shook Harry's shoulder to get his attention, "I keep her on a shelf on her own." Slowly, Slughorn reached up to a muggle photograph that sat in a circular frame all by itself on a shelf above the others. The photograph was of a stunningly beautiful girl with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes that shone like the gem itself. His mother. Tears stung Harry's eyes as he fought to keep them back. "She was my all time favorite student. The smartest witch of her generation, a dab hand at potions as I have already said, and one of the gentlest souls on earth. Her kindness was only matched by her fiery temper…" he trailed off, his voice heavy with emotion.

Harry looked up to see Slughorn holding the photograph as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Tears streamed down the older man's eyes as he stared at the picture of his former student. "She was the pinnacle of my career, the best of all of us. The happiest moments of my life were when I sat in on her and James' wedding and when I received a letter from her one day telling me that she was pregnant. She even sent my photos of her beautiful little boy… you, Harry," he whispered as his tear filled eyes turned to look at Harry. "Then that damned war took her away. It showed how evil this world we live in truly is. When the best of us is _betrayed_ and then _murdered_ in cold blood by a raging psychopath who has delusions of grandeur. That was the day I lost all hope, that was the day I retired my boy. Every Halloween people celebrate the fall of that sick man, but to me it is the worst day of my life," he finished bitterly.

Harry stared at the man as he came to terms with what he had just said. He had never heard someone speak so passionately about his mother before. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sirius, and Remus spoke about her every now and then, but never like this. The man initially seemed a little too self-important for Harry's tastes, but none of that mattered now. He had never heard a person speak about Halloween in such a way before. Harry had never told anyone about his true feelings towards the day because he could never put them into words, but that is exactly what Slughorn just did. Harry felt a true connection with the old wizard, and now there was nothing he wanted to do more than get to know the man.

"Forgive an old man for getting emotional over the past," Slughorn said in a broken voice.

"There's nothing to forgive, sir," Harry replied as he gave the potions master a warm, genuine smile, "I've never heard anyone speak about my mother in that way, and it is nice to know there is another person in the world who hates Halloween just as much as I do," he chuckled darkly. "All that I know, sir, is that I don't think my mother would want you to burdened by your past and by her memory. I could tell by the way you spoke earlier that teaching was your passion and that you clearly loved your time at Hogwarts as a professor. I don't think you were very fair by denying yourself something you clearly loved. Just because _we l_ ost her doesn't mean everything ends in tragedy, it doesn't mean you have to give up. Potions has never been my favorite subject, but I think I could come to love it if you were teaching it, sir."

Before Harry could continue speaking, he was cut off by another voice re-entering the room, "Horace, thank you for allowing me to use the washroom. It appears I might have eaten a few too many lemon drops, Minerva always tells me that my sweet tooth will be the death of me some day," he joked. "Do you mind if I take this magazine with me as well, it had some interesting knitting patterns that I would like to try?"

"Yes, of course Albus," he answered absentmindedly, clearly not paying attention to what was going on around him.

"Ah, thank you very much. It was nice to stop by and visit, but I think it would be best if we were on our way Harry," he winked at Harry, "I wouldn't want the Weasley's worrying too much about where we have run off to," he continued as he led Harry back outside the house. "Harry I would like to thank you for what you said to Horace in there. My dear friend has never been the same since that fateful day, and I think speaking to you is the first step in his road to recovery. If I am not mistaken, which I rarely am, I believe the second step to his recovery will begin in about 3 seconds," he whispered.

Harry just rolled his eyes at the Headmaster's cheekiness, and as they continued down the path away from the house Harry counted down from three in his mind. When he hit zero, he wasn't surprised to hear the footsteps of a panting Horace Slughorn running down the path after them, "Alright, alright Albus! I'll do it!" he called out as he bent over his knees to catch his breath. "I'll come back to teach this year."

Dumbledore, ever the dramatic, feigned surprise, "Oh Horace, that is fantastic news! I was beginning to worry that I would have to go find Gilderoy and give him another go. Now that would have been an interesting year." Harry had to hold back the urge to snort after imagining what it would be like being taught potions by Lockhart. Especially the Gilderoy Lockhart who currently resided in the spell damage ward of St. Mungo's without any of his memories.

"Yes, yes, damn you. But before I return, I have some conditions that need to be met. I want my old classroom back, my usual prize for the first 6th year class, and Professor Ogden's old quarters… the big one not the smaller one," he demanded.

"Consider it done Horace. I'm sure you will be quite busy over the next few days packing up and getting your affairs in order, therefore I expect to be seeing you at the castle in a week's time," he replied without missing a beat. "Now I must bid you adieu old friend, as I must escort young Harry here before Molly calls the aurors." Immediately after Slughorn turned to return to his temporary hideout, Dumbledore gave Harry a subtle nod. Realizing what was coming next, Harry took a deep breath before grabbing hold of Dumbledore's arm and disappearing with a _pop_.

For the second time that evening, Harry ended up on his knees simultaneously trying to calm his stomach and regain his bearings. "I thought it would get better, but this time was way worse," Harry choked out.

"It will get easier over time, especially when you learn to do it by yourself. However, your discomfort this time around was due to traveling through wards. I had William aid me in setting up more secure protections around the Burrow in preparation of your arrival. If anybody not part of the Order attempted to apparate directly onto their property, they would meet a most unpleasant surprise," Dumbledore explained as he extended his wrinkled hand to help Harry up off of the ground. "There is one more matter I would like to speak to you about, thus I have taken the liberty of giving us a little bit of time before we arrive at the Weasley's lovely home."

Looking around for the first time since arriving, Harry recognized that they had apparated to the small pond near the Burrow where he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins would occasionally go swimming on a hot day. It would give them at least 5 minutes to talk in private before reaching the house.

"Before we get onto the matter I wish to discuss, I first wanted to ask you how you are feeling about the prophecy," Dumbledore asked. Before Harry could respond, Dumbledore cut in again, "an honest response, Harry. I know you have a penchant to downplay your feelings on various matters."

Harry had to laugh at how well Dumbledore knew him, as he was about to simply dismiss the question all together. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Harry steeled himself before answering, "Honestly, sir, I'm frightened. Not so much frightened of the man, given I have met with him... or a version of him several times over the past few years, but frightened of what happens when I finally do confront him. I am terrified that I will fail, and that my failure will lead to my friends dying and the entirety of magical Britain falling under his control. After seeing your duel with him at the Ministry, I just don't see how I will be prepared to fight him," Harry's head gradually lowered itself in shame over the course of his admission.

A sad smile crossed Dumbledore's face at hearing the truth behind the words of the brave young man who walked beside him, "There is no shame in how you feel, Harry. The task that has been given to you before you were even born is most unfair. It should never fall to somebody so young to fix the foolish mistakes of those who came before them, yet that is how it always seems to be. I know it appears impossible right now Harry, but never give up hope. I believe in you my boy. There is no single person, myself included, who I think has a better chance of accomplishing this task. Your resilience and ability to rise above adversity speaks for itself and given what I have recently observed of your abilities, I think you are well on your way in fulfilling the prophecy."

The words, whether they were true or not, still touched Harry. The _impossible_ task of defeating Voldemort now only seemed _improbable_. It may not seem to be a lot, but to Harry it made all the difference, "Thank you, sir. Your words mean a lot," he smiled as he met Dumbledore's eyes.

"Now onto the matter I wished to discuss with you," Dumbledore continued, "I believe it is about time that I took a more direct role in your education." Seeing Harry's hopeful look, Dumbledore elaborated, "Despite your young age, you are mature beyond your years. I speak not only about who you are as a person, Harry, but magically as well. Despite the importance of our little adventure this evening, I had another reason for taking you out. Throughout the evening, I have been actively scanning your magic in order to finalize my decision of teaching you privately. My scans have shown that your magic has fully matured, which is most impressive seeing as my magic only fully matured a few years after graduating from Hogwarts."

Harry was slightly shocked at hearing this, "Sir, I don't really feel all that different. If my magic finally matured, wouldn't I have at least… noticed it?"

"Perhaps you might have, Harry, had you been regularly using your magic. But seeing as you spent your summer in a muggle area and you did not receive another ministry letter from Miss Hopkirk, then there was no way for you to notice. But now that it has, I will have no reason to hold back during our lessons. You have always had an abundance of power, but now you will find that casting comes more naturally. You will forge a more intimate bond with your own magic, silent casting will come easier, and you will gain a stronger sense of control. Your lessons will contain a little bit of everything, ranging from history and theory, to words of wisdom from myself, and of course practical work. I find myself looking forward to our time together this upcoming school year, my boy," the old man grinned. This was the most alive that Dumbledore looked all evening. His blue eyes twinkled behind the half-moon glasses that rested on his crooked nose, and there looked to be a little extra pep in his step as they approached the Weasley's home. It was obvious how much the man enjoyed teaching and passing on his wisdom to the next generation.

"I can hardly wait myself," Harry replied, not being able to control the full grin that was plastered across his face. This was what he was hoping for. This was what he needed. Hearing this made his future look that much brighter, it instilled more hope in the idea that he _could_ one day defeat Voldemort. Harry could hardly wait to tell Ron and Hermio-

Not for the first time that evening, Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking. "I do think it would be best if we kept the knowledge of our meetings private for the time being. As much as I know how much you trust your friends, and as much as I know how loyal they are to you, it is imperative that the list of those who know of our meetings be as small as possible. The same goes for what is learnt during our meetings." As Dumbledore said his, he stopped walking and turned to look at Harry. The look in Dumbledore's eyes showed how serious he was being. "I am confident in your abilities to come up with excuses for your absences, as I am sure you have managed to withhold information from them in the past. But from observing young Ronald and Miss Granger over the years, it would not surprise me if they found themselves occupied with more _personal_ matters this year."

"I don't know professor, I think they'll be as old as you and still continue to dance around each other," Harry joked, causing Dumbledore to laugh along with him.

As they reached the end of the path and stood in front of the door to the Burrow, Dumbledore gently laid his gloved hand on Harry's shoulder, "I want you to remember Harry, that despite what the future holds for us, there will always be people who care for you. As silly as it sounds, love is our greatest weapon in this war, for love is the one thing that Tom Riddle can never understand. Do not fear love Harry, take the risk and when given the opportunity, embrace and cherish it with all your heart." Before Harry could question his words, Dumbledore had already reached out and knocked on the door.

Within seconds, the door burst open to reveal the motherly face of Molly Weasley with her hands on her hips, "Albus, you should know better. Taking the poor boy out so late at night, these are dark and dangerous times," she immediately scolded the headmaster as she led them both into the kitchen.

"I apologize Molly, in my advanced age time just seems to blur together," Dumbledore responded, playing the role of the forgetful old man that he had mastered over the years, "No need to worry now, Harry is here safe and sound," he added in order to soothe Molly's nerves. "Now as much as I would like to stay and chat, I have matters to attend to at the ministry. Have a goodnight Molly, Harry, and… Nymphadora," he spoke as he exited the house and disappeared into the night.

At hearing the last name, Harry quickly searched the Weasley's kitchen and found the pink haired auror wrapped up in what looked to be an oversized, worn-out brown trench coat, sitting at the end of the table with a cup of tea. Except this time her hair wasn't the usual pink, but more of a dull blue color. "Wotcher Harry," she greeted in a much more resigned tone than usual.

"Oh Harry dear, I hope those relatives of yours have been treating well," Mrs. Weasley cut in as she enveloped Harry in a large hug, before grabbing his face in her hands, "I still think you are much to skinny. We will have to fix that up before you head back off to Hogwarts. Come, have a seat and I'll give a bowl of the soup we had for supper," she instructed as she led him towards the kitchen table and handed him a piece of bread.

As Mrs. Weasley rushed over to prepare the bowl of soup for Harry, he looked back over to Tonks, "Hi Tonks!" he greeted back enthusiastically. After greeting her, Harry took a good look at her pretty heart-shaped face and noticed how tired she looked. Not only did she look tired, but she seemed to be missing her usual cheeriness, but most important of all… she didn't react when Dumbledore called her by her first name. Harry knew something was wrong. Not being one who usually enjoyed physical contact, Harry threw caution to the wind and engulfed his favorite auror in a hug.

Tonks froze for a second, before melting into the hug. It seemed almost as if she was clinging to Harry for dear life, as she rested her head on his shoulder and ran her hand through the back of his messy hair. They stayed that way for almost a minute until the clatter of the soup bowl being placed on the table broke them apart. "Thanks Harry, I really needed that," she sniffed as her hair flashed between its current dull blue and her usual hot pink.

"He meant a lot to both us," Harry replied thinking of Sirius, "we both loved him, and he loved us. He'd want both of us to be here for each other and to be happy," Harry choked with emotion.

Tonks gave small nod before giving Harry another quick hug. She lightened up slightly after his words and the hug, but something else also seemed to be weighing her down. Before Harry could ask her what else was wrong, Tonks was already on her way to the exit, "Thanks again Molly for taking me in unannounced and lending me your ear," she called to the Weasley matriarch.

"It was no problem dear," she responded kindly, "that is what we are all here for, to support one another. Whenever you are feeling down or just simply want somebody to talk to, I am always available."

"Seeya around Harry, I've missed ya," she parted before leaving the Burrow.

"Poor girl has had a rough few months," Mrs. Weasley spoke aloud to herself. "Anyways Harry dear, I expect you to finish up that soup and then you can head up to Ronald's room. I had him take your things up there before he went to bed, I think your owl is somewhere around here as well. You don't mind sharing with Ron do you?" she asked.

"No, it is totally fine Mrs. Weasley," he replied between spoonful's.

"It's Molly, dear. I've been telling you that for years," she mock scolded him as she headed to the stairs. "You can put the bowl in the sink when you're done, have a goodnight Harry."

Hearing the door close as Mrs. Weasley entered her room, Harry finished the last of his soup. It was delicious, just like all of Molly's cooking. Putting away his bowl, Harry started the long climb up to Ron's room. He passed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room, he passed Ginny's room, he passed the twin's and Percy's open rooms, and then he passed Bill and Charlies old room which was closed for some reason. Not thinking too much on it, Harry finally made it to Ron's room and opened the door quietly. The moment it opened, he was assaulted with the sound of Ron's snoring. Harry couldn't help but smirk at his sleeping friend, this was certainly something he had not missed while living at the Dursley's. Carefully he made his way to the bed they had set up for him, before collapsing into it. It had been a long and exhausting day, which was why he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

 **AN**

 **Here it is, the first chapter, I hope you enjoyed.**


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep was never something Harry could enjoy. Perhaps as a baby he had enjoyed it, lying in his crib safe and knowing that his loving parents were only one loud cry away. There might have been times that he had fallen asleep snugged up in his father's arms, in his mother's breasts, or maybe even cuddled up with Padfoot. It was something Harry thought often about, these loving scenarios and how his early life might have been.

Life at number 4 Privet Drive was rough, but it could have been a lot worse. He was mostly ignored, did the odd chore and was occasionally yelled at for something Dudley did. But he was never outright physically abused. The only major form of mistreatment he could vividly remember was the cupboard. The cupboard was bad, no, it was very bad. The musty smell that never went away, the piles of dust, the creaking old wood, and the spiders made sleeping very difficult. It was during these times that he thought about what his life could have been like had his parents survived. Sleep did get better when he eventually moved into Dudley's second bedroom, but not by much. He was fairly certain the Dursley's specifically picked out the least comfortable mattress they could find. Hogwarts is where he thought his fortune would change, but it did not. Despite how comfortable the magical mattresses were, his dreams were plagued with the bright green flash of the curse he had miraculously survived and he would occasionally wake up from pain coming from his scar. His 3rd year dreams were filled with the screams of his mother pleading for her baby son's life, and 4th and 5th year were filled with visions and pains in his scar that would give Voldemort's _Crucio_ a run for its money.

Now, he dreamed of Sirius' death. Every night it was the same sequence of events repeating themselves constantly, as if mocking Harry over the loss of his last bit of family. Sirius would be fighting Bellatrix in a duel not as flashy as Dumbledore and Voldemort's, but in one that was many times more vicious. It was a grudge match between the cousins from the House of Black, and Sirius was winning. The years in Azkaban did little to hinder Sirius' skill with a wand, and the same could be said about Bellatrix. Moments from victory, a flash of the old Marauder returned as he couldn't pass up the opportunity to mock his opponent. But in that moment he forgot that Azkaban did rob one thing from him, his reflexes. Before he could even blink, Sirius Black was knocked backwards and falling through the veil with a look of shock and regret on his handsome face. It was that face that haunted his dreams, the face of a man who went from being on top of the world one moment, to disappearing without a trace the next.

That was why Harry hated sleeping, and that was why he was currently lying with his eyes closed listening to Ron and Hermione squabble over whether they should wake him from his fake slumber.

"Come on Hermione, can we please wake him up already. Breakfast is going to get cold soon if we don't hurry."

"Ronald Weasley, is food the only thing you think about!" she smacked him over the head, "Your mother told me that he came in with Professor Dumbledore only a couple of hours ago. Let him sleep, he must be exhausted."

"I'm a growing boy, Hermione, of course I'm going to be thinking about food," he replied before suddenly lowering his voice and speaking conspiratorially, "what do you think he did with Dumbledore-"

" _Professor_ Dumbledore, Ronald," she corrected.

"yeah, yeah, what do you think he did with Professor Dumbledore last night? You think they went out and fought some Death Eaters?" Ron whispered with childlike excitement.

"Honestly, it amazes me that you have actually made it to 6th year without using your brain once in your life," Hermione muttered.

"Who needs a brain when I've got you, Hermione. You're bloody brilliant!"

"Language, Ronald!" she scolded. It took almost all of Harry's self-control to not open his eyes at that moment to see how furiously his bushy haired friend was blushing at Ron's compliment. Harry wondered if the betting pool Fred and George had set up about whether or not they would get together was still running even though they left Hogwarts last year. He'd have to ask them when he saw them again, he had bet a hefty sum of 15 galleons that they'd get together in NEWT year. Not like he needed the money, but the twins had caught him when he was drunk off firewhiskey at one of the house parties last year.

"Anyways, I don't think they did anything too exciting. Maybe he wanted to talk to Harry's relatives, or maybe he wanted to talk to Harry about Sirius," Hermione continued. Harry had to hold back the urge to wince at hearing his godfather's name, the image of him falling through the veil was still fresh in his mind from his nightmares. "You know how Harry gets, he'll probably clam up and won't want to talk about it. I went to the library over the summer and checked out a few books over the summer about people coping with traumatic events, and I found them absolutely fascinating. Do you think I should have my parent's owl me the books so I can pass them on to Harry? There was a study recently done…"

"Mmmm," Ron hummed in affirmation. Harry knew exactly what that 'hum' meant. It was a strategy that him and Ron had come up with during 3rd year for whenever Hermione started talking about books, the library, or went off on some sort of tangent. Therefore, as Hermione continued to ramble on about what she had learned during her research, Ron just hummed along, probably thinking about the Chudley Cannon's chances at not finishing bottom for the fifth year running.

"You know, Hermione," Ron suddenly spoke up, breaking Hermione off midsentence.

"Ronald, were you even listening to what I was just saying," she shot back, giving him a deadly glare.

"Wha-ugh, err, yeah of course I was Hermione," he fumbled about, "I was er, just going to ask if you think Dumbledore and Harry were talking about what happened at the Ministry, you know like the…" he paused and looked around the room before saying the last word in a whisper, " _prophecy?"_

"Well I suppose that is a possibility," she conceded, "but wouldn't they have talked about it when we got back from the Ministry? Harry looked really different the days after the Ministry, it could have been because Sirius, but there just seemed to be something else wro-" before Hermione could finish her thought, she was interrupted by a slamming door.

"Bloody hell Ginny! You're going to wake up Harry," Ron shouted as he climbed back onto his bed, after falling off in surprise of her dramatic entrance.

The fact that Ginny slammed the door hard enough to shake the foundations of the Burrow was a saving grace for Harry. Listening to Ron and Hermione talk about his problems and speculate on what he and Dumbledore were doing was getting awkward. It was nice to know that his friends cared about his wellbeing, but some things just weren't meant for their eyes and ears. His feelings for Sirius were his own, and he would get through it himself. Harry just didn't see how Ron and Hermione could be of any help, seeing as they had never lost somebody they loved. The most Hermione had ever lost was perhaps a favorite book and the only loss Ron ever had was Scabbers, and that was because he turned out to be Pettigrew hiding as his rat animagus. The lessons with Dumbledore were another thing that he did not want them finding out about, Dumbledore had specifically asked him to keep it from them for whatever reason. As much as he didn't like keeping things from his best friends, the upcoming war meant secrets would eventually be necessary.

Ginny's intrusion almost provided Harry with an opportunity to officially wake up, and not make it obvious that he was eavesdropping on his best friends' private conversation. "Merlin… who just broke down the bedroom door…" Harry pretended to mutter sleepily. Acting was not his forte, so Harry tried his best to appear as if he had just woken up. He blinked his eyes open a few times, before wiping the 'sleep' from them.

"Harry!" came a chorus of three shouts.

Harry reached over to his night table and fumbled for the glasses that he knew were there, doing his best to continue playing the role. "Hey guys!" he greeted them with a 'sleepy' smile. 'I'm actually pretty good at this,' Harry complimented himself in his mind. He turned his gaze and took in the faces of his friends at his bedside. Ron's blue eyes gleamed with excitement at having his best mate back, Hermione gave him a pitying look for whatever reason, and Ginny's face was flushed but Harry wasn't sure whether it was some of her left over rage or a blush.

"Oh Harry I'm so sorry we woke you up, I know you must have had a long and exhausting night with Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure we can all leave the room and let you catch some more sleep, it's just that I rea- I mean, we really just wanted to see how you were doing and check that you were all right. But, I see now that you are. Perhaps we can go downstairs and bring you up some breakfast, and we-"

"No need. _She_ is already making and bringing him breakfast," an irate Ginny cut off Hermione's babbling. Harry was interested in what had managed to get the youngest Weasley's knickers in a twist. He knew the red head had a temper, as Ron and the twins had been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count. But Ron obviously wasn't the subject of her ire at the moment, and the twin's had sent him a letter a few weeks back letting him know that they had moved out and were about to open their new shop. Thinking back to last night he remembered that the door to Bill and Charlie's old room was closed, perhaps one of them came back to visit and did something to anger their little sister. He wasn't complaining though, because an angry Ginny was a hot Ginny. Despite being his best mate's little sister, Harry was a teenage boy and had to admit that she was growing into a very attractive witch. Most of the school was becoming aware of it as well, and seeing Ron grumble about it last year was rather amusing.

"Are Bill or Charlie staying over this summer?" Harry asked them in order to see if the theory he came up with was correct. Apparently he came to the wrong conclusion, as his friends all gave him a questioning look.

"They don't really visit that often, mate, they're busy setting up their own lives. The last time we really saw them was when they came for the World Cup. Charlie says the summer is dragon mating season, so the reserve needs as many wands as they can get to keep the place under control," Ron explained before continuing, "and Bill's been gone the last few months to Germany, he said something about the goblin's being hired to check something out at Nurmengard… Wait, seriously Harry, you don't know what _Nurmengard_ is?" he questioned at seeing the blank look on Harry's face. "Blimey mate! Well I'm sure Hermione could give you the entire history of the place, but I'll save you from that torture," he joked, causing everyone to laugh except for the bushy-haired girl who smacked him in the arm, "… Ow! Anyways, Nurmengard was a prison Grindelwald built when he was in power and it was where he kept the wizards he captured. After the war ended when Dumbledore beat him, the ICW took over the prison, locked Grindelwald inside, and threw away the key. Apparently it's scarier than Azkaban and a lot more secure."

Despite his recent efforts, Harry still found that his knowledge of the magical world had gaps in it. Not being brought up in a magical household and living with the Dursley's for most of his summer's limited his exposure to what lay beyond Hogwarts, Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. It was strange for Harry to think about how there was an entire world that lay beyond Magical Britain. He hadn't told anybody this, but one of his secret desires was to travel the world and experience everything it had to offer. This was one of the things that kept him going, the idea that one day Voldemort would be gone and he would be free to go wherever he wished. To this day, Harry's favorite experience was attending the Quidditch World Cup. Just thinking back to all of the different people and cultures that came together that day brought a smile to his face.

"Why were you asking if Bill or Charlie were staying?" Ginny's voice brought Harry out of his thoughts.

"Oh, well when I was coming upstairs last night I noticed that the door to their room was closed when its always open," he answered, looking up into his friends' faces. Immediately he knew something was up. Ron's face flushed the famous Weasley red, Hermione stiffened and sniffed in irritation, and Ginny looked like she was about to explode.

"Yes… umm, the Weasley's have another house guest other than you and I this year, Harry," Hermione vaguely explained, almost as if she was afraid of staying on the current topic for too long. The odd behaviour of his friends was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

"And who exactly is this house guest?" Harry asked, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling his friends.

It seemed that this question put Ginny over the edge, as she finally erupted, " _Phlegm_!" she spat. "That bloody French tart is staying here with us for some reason. I can't stand her! Walking around as if she's Merlin's gift to the world, looking at everything as if it's not good enough for her, singing to herself like some deranged bird, giving fashion and boy advice like she knows everything…" Ginny ranted on and on. Harry was taken aback at the fury, and what appeared to be a jealousy in her voice. This was certainly a side of the girl he had never seen before. However, these thoughts escaped Harry's mind rather quickly as he was more preoccupied at figuring out who this 'Phlegm' was.

Fixing his glasses that had slipped down his nose, Harry shuffled back on his bed and took another look at his friends. Ginny continued to rant and rave in a way that reminded Harry of a spell he had looked up once, _Fiendfyre_. A fire so hot and untamed that it is thought to be summoned from Hell itself. Her flaming red hair was lit up by the early morning light slipping through the small window above his bed, while her eyes were blazing uncontrollably. It was scary, Harry made a mental note to never get on Ginny's bad side. Harry flicked his eyes over to Hermione, expecting her to berate Ginny for some of the words that were leaving her mouth. But what he witnessed surprised him, as Hermione was listening intently to Ginny and unconsciously nodding along with what she was saying. Apparently this 'Phlegm' had managed to get onto Hermione's bad side as well. Looking over at Ron, who had remained silent thus far, Harry noticed that his eyes had glazed over in a familiar manner…

Before he could continue his train of thought, the door to the bedroom opened again, but in a much less dramatic way this time. "Arry, are you in zhere?" a melodic voice called out as it entered the room. Harry knew that voice. "Nobody told me you were coming, I only found out zhat you were 'ere this morning, so I decided to make you some breakfast," the voice continued. There was only one person Harry knew who had an accent like that. When Harry looked over to the open door, he was met with the sight of his beautiful co-Triwizard Champion. Harry didn't know how it was possible, but Fleur somehow managed to become even more attractive since he last saw her. Her silvery blonde hair was placed into a ponytail, her angelic features pulled into a smile, and her pale blue eyes shined in the light. Her presence alone brightened up the room. The Veela was wearing one of Mrs. Weasley's old aprons and gracefully made her way across the room to his bedside.

"Fleur!" Harry greeted his friend. Despite her initial frostiness, Fleur had slowly warmed up to him over the course of the tournament. What cemented their relationship was when Harry saved her little sister Gabrielle from the lake in the Second Task. He learnt afterwards that there was nobody more precious to her then 'leetle Gabi' and that she was impressed by the moral fiber he displayed. Harry initially found Fleur to be a little bit pretentious, but as he got to know her better he realized that it was a product of her being brought up in the upper echelons of French society, and over time he found it to be slightly endearing. They did not see much of each other following the madness of the Third Task, only being able to say their goodbye's and agree to exchange letters. "What are you doing here?" he asked curiously, as she lay a tray of food on his nightstand before taking a seat beside him on the bed.

She gave a slight pause at the question, before giving a delicate smile, "I am 'ere to see you, non? Unless you were expecting me to be in zee room of Arry Potter for a different reezon," she teased him, causing him to blush. It wasn't because of the allure, which never seemed to have much of an effect on him, it was simply the fact that a pretty girl was flirting with him.

"It's not that, Harry, Phl- _Fleur_ is here because she's engaged to Bill," Ginny cut in sharply.

"Ahh," Fleur sighed heavily, "eet seems zhat my jest 'as run its course. Why must you always ruin my fun, _Ginevra_ ," Fleur replied, making sure to emphasize Ginny's hated full name.

Harry figured that the house guest who had managed to upset the equilibrium of the Weasley household was none other than Fleur Delacour. He also figured that she must have been the one sleeping in Bill's room. But putting that aside as well as Ginny and Fleur's obvious dislike for one another, Harry found the entire situation odd. Bill and Fleur had only briefly met just before the Third Task; and according to the letters they had sent to each other last year, Fleur had only started her new job at Gringotts at the end of August. Harry simply found it curious as to how they had met, got to know each other, dated, and gotten engaged in a single year. It was uncommon, but not unheard of. Sirius had told him that his parents had only started dating in their last year of Hogwarts, and had gotten engaged and married shortly after graduating. But then again, his mother and father had spent almost every single day of their lives together the previous six years. Maybe Dumbledore was right, and love really was that powerful.

"But Ron said that Bill is in Germany right now for work," Harry spoke out loud another thing that seemed odd about the situation. Meanwhile, Ron snapped back to reality at hearing his name and was instantly given a cold glare from Hermione.

"I simply wanted to meet zee family of my intended," Fleur responded quickly. "After our engagement I wanted to see where William grew up. It eez such a…" she paused for a second as she looked around the room, " _charming_ 'ouse, and filled wiz such lovely people."

"Yes, we all appreciate Fleur's presence in the house. I'm sure Bill is thankful we all get along so well," Ginny said with forced kindness. It looked almost painful for her to say it, but that also could have been because of how hard she was digging her nails into her palm. Harry was certain there was an interesting story behind Ginny and Fleur's first meeting. "Right Ron?" she elbowed her brother in order to receive confirmation.

"…Bloody Hell…ow! Oh, umm… yeah," he finished lamely as the allure was starting to mess with his head again. Once again, he received another glare from Hermione, making it obvious to Harry as to why she didn't like Fleur very much either.

"If you don't mind Fleur, we were hoping to have a private conversation with Harry," Hermione said, subtly hinting that they didn't want her in the room any longer.

"Oh, I see. I veel respect your privacy," she answered, obviously picking up on the hint. Slowly she stood from the bed and smoothed out her skirt and apron, before turning back towards Harry, "I 'ope you enjoy your breakfast Arry. We will 'ave to catch up later, there is so much we 'ave to talk about." With that, she gracefully made her exit and silently closed the door.

The bedroom was silent as they all listened to her quite footsteps making their way back downstairs. The silence was once again broken by Ginny, "I don't know how I can spend another day with her, let alone two weeks… did you hear her? _You always ruin my fun, Ginevra_ ," Ginny mimicked Fleur, which turned out to be a surprisingly good imitation, "Did you hear her? She called me _Ginevra_!"

"I'm sure she was using it in the best way possible," Hermione tried to mediate, but she quickly changed her mind after seeing the look Ginny was giving her, "…or she wasn't. I would be lying if I said she is a joy to be around."

"I don't know what your guys' problem is, but I like Fleur," Harry cut in. "Once you get to know her she's a lot better, and is actually a lot of fun. She can't be as bad as you guys are making her out to be if Bill wants to marry her, don't you trust his judgement?" Harry finished, looking directly at Ginny as he asked his question.

A slight blush crossed Ginny's face at their prolonged eye contact, "I still think she used love potions on Bill or something," she muttered under her breath.

"Are you serious?" Ron spoke up for the first time in a while, after finally regaining all of his senses, "You think that a girl like Fleur would ever need to use love potions? I bet you Bill was jumping at the chance to marry her," he finished.

Seeing that Hermione was about to unleash Hell's fury on Ron for what he just said, Harry quickly intervened, "Okay, okay, what was so important and _private_ that you guys needed to talk to me alone?"

After taking a few seconds to recompose herself, Hermione brushed back her hair and took a seat beside Harry where Fleur previously sat, "First Harry, we just wanted to say that we don't blame you for what happened at the Ministry…" she paused nervously as she looked to Ginny and Ron for support, "everything that happened to us… the curse I took, Ginny's leg, Ron's mind… none of that's your fault."

"How could you say that!" Harry exclaimed, "You were only there because of me, had I not rushed into danger and actually listened to what you said for once, Hermione, then none of this would have happened…" his voice trailed off, filled with emotion. That night at the Ministry was the worst night of Harry's life, second only to the night his parents died. He was certain that the memories of the debacle at the Department of Mysteries would haunt him for the rest of his life, however long or short that was. Losing Sirius felt like a dagger through his heart, but what he put his friends through felt as if someone had ripped it straight out of his chest and stomped on it for good measure.

"That's not true Harry, we would have gone either way. You didn't force us, you didn't threaten us, you even told us not to come with you. But what sort of friends would we be if we let you run off on your own," Ginny responded, her chocolate brown eyes imploring Harry to believe what she was saying. "I get it, Harry. You were fooled, you were tricked, you were manipulated into going to the Ministry. Sure you might feel like the biggest idiot in the world, but you're not the only person who has ever been fooled by him. I spent my entire first year being manipulated by Tom, pouring my heart into his cursed diary, playing the role of the silly little schoolgirl and it almost got me killed. I know how it feels Harry, trust me it's not your fault."

Harry didn't want to show it, but he felt the weight of her words. All his life it had been him against Voldemort, the Boy-Who-Lived versus He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a story so romanticized that it wouldn't surprise him if people would be telling their grandchildren about it 200 years from now. He hadn't officially known it before, but the words of the prophecy confirmed what deep down he knew already. His fate was so intertwined with that of Voldemort, that it was hard for him to look at the big picture. It was hard for Harry to remember that the actions of Tom Riddle did not solely affect his life. Susan Bones lost almost her entire family save her Aunt Amelia and a few cousins, Neville's parents were tortured into insanity leaving him only his Grandmother and Uncle Algie, Molly Weasley lost both of her brothers, not to mention the entire families that were wiped out. Harry wasn't a narcissist, but with the way his life had been up to this point, it was tough for him to remember that the world didn't revolve around him.

"Mate… we're all fine, we all survived…," Ron paused after realizing what he just said, immediately earning himself a smack over the head from both girls for his lack of tact, "oh, sorry. Anyways, uh, what I was trying to say is that none of us who came had any lasting damage. Sure those tentacle brain things were bloody weird and messed my brain right up, but I'm fine now and my brain never was that great to begin with," he joked in a self-deprecating manner, "Gin's leg is all fixed, and Hermione just finished her potion regiment to counteract the curse. I talked to Neville and Luna as well, and neither of them blame you either and they're both doing well…great actually. Luna said something about our trip to the Ministry getting her a load of new information and theories for The Quibbler, and I swear Neville looks like a new man."

"Apparently his grandmother took him to Ollivanders straight from Kings Cross Station to get his new wand," Hermione cut in, "and I overheard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley say that it looked almost as if they went back in time and were talking to his father Frank," she added sheepishly over the fact that she was admitting to eavesdropping.

Hearing this brought a genuine smile to Harry's face. He was proud of how far Neville had come over the course of their 5th year. As he gained confidence, he slowly shed his identity of being a meek and forgetful boy and began his transformation into the great wizard he had the potential to be. Neville had become Harry's unofficial pet project in the D.A. and it was great to here that he had a positive impact on his friend's life.

"That's good to hear guys," he finally responded, "I know that you all came willingly, and that none of you blame me, but I just can't help feel slightly responsible." Seeing that his friends were about to interrupt, Harry put up his hand to silence them, "It's not my fault, I get that. It is fact and nothing can change that. You don't need to explain everything to me again, I just need time to accept it."

"No problem mate, take as much time as you want, just remember that we've always got your back," Ron smiled kindly. "Now that's out of the way, umm, Hermio-uh, I was… I mean we, uh, were wondering what, uh, you were doing before you came here, yenno, with Dumbledore and all that," Ron stuttered out, causing both Hermione and Ginny to shake their heads in hands.

"You want to know what I did last night with the headmaster?" Harry asked in clarification, and Ron nodded in response

"Oh, Harry you don't have to answer us. I mean it is rather nosey of us, especially if it is something personal. Is it? I mean, is it something personal? Because if it is, you don't need to tell us. We were just rather curious about what you got up to, because it's not every day that Professor Dumbledore picks up a student for a nightly excursion. It would be fascinating though, watching him do magic and having the opportunity to ask him any questions. Having any personal time with the headmaster would be a dream, just the amount of magical knowledge he must have accumulated over his life…"

"Hermione," he started in the attempt to cut her off, but she continued, "Hermione," he called louder without success, "Hermione!" again nothing. It seemed as if Hermione had entered one of her nervous ramblings, where not even a silencing charm could stop her. Harry was certain it was a by-product of her being bullied as a child, and it was her defense mechanism for whenever she thought she had annoyed a friend, despite the rambling being more annoying than the initial question. It took Ginny shoving a pillow over Hermione's face to finally get her to stop talking, "Thanks Ginny," Harry called in response to her action.

"As I was going to say, _Hermione_ ," Harry continued, causing her to flush, "I have no problem answering your questions. Last night Dumbledore picked me up from my relatives and took me took me on a little side trip to visit a professor."

"I told you they didn't fight any Death Eaters, Ronald," Hermione exclaimed.

"Blimey mate, you saw were a professor lives!" Ron laughed, ignoring Hermione's comment, "Was it Flitwick? I bet he lives in a tiny house where everything is scaled down to his size. McGonagall? It'd be weird seeing her outside of Hogwarts or the Order. Was it Snape!?" he spat out the last name with a grimace on his face, "I bet the git lives in a dank old cave, probably infested with bats and inferi or something else evil," he muttered causing them all to laugh.

"No it wasn't that," Harry chuckled at his friend, "we actually went out to find a new professor for this upcoming year. Dumbledore called it a job interview?"

"So you went looking to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?" Ginny stated.

"In a way," Harry vaguely answered, he wanted to leave the surprise of Snape finally getting the position he always wanted for the opening feast. Harry would bet his Firebolt that Ron would either choke on his food or faint in shock. "Anyways, we managed to convince him, Professor Slughorn, to come out of retirement. He looks to be a really good professor, very passionate about teaching, he actually taught both of my parents," Harry thought back to how fondly Slughorn spoke about his mother, almost as if she were his own daughter.

"Oh that is so exciting! Our defense professors have been sorely lacking over the years, except Professor Lupin of course. Umbridge was absolutely dreadful last year," Hermione said, getting a murmur of agreement from her friends, "I'm certain I would have failed our OWLs if it wasn't for the D.A. I can't imagine how difficult the exam must have been for the students who weren't a part of it, like the Slytherins."

"Most of the Slytherins and other purebloods said they weren't too worried about it. A lot of them get private tutoring over the summer in the core courses," Harry responded.

"That's terribly unfair!" Hermione protested.

"Sorry Hermione, but those are the perks of being rich, influential, and part of one of the founding houses of Magical Britain. The fact that they live in family manors far away from muggle inhabited areas helps as well," Ron shrugged.

"How do you know what the Slytherins thought about the exam?" Ginny asked Harry.

"I'm friends with a few of them, surprisingly not all of them are all that bad. Sure, they're a little bit prickly but I'm pretty certain they do it just to keep up appearances," Harry answered simply.

"Wait a second! Harry are you alright? We're talking about Slytherins here… _Slytherins_ , you must be joking right… right?" Ron said uncertainly looking at both Ginny and Hermione for support.

"Oh shut up Ronald, I've been telling you not to be so closeminded for years. It's a good thing that Harry's been branching out," Hermione chastised the redhead before giving Harry a beaming smile. "Who was it that you were talking to, I'd like to know what their thoughts were about the Defense OWL?"

Talking about his Slytherin friends, or acquaintances as they liked to be called, was not a topic he liked to think about that often and something he had never really told Ron and Hermione. It was a very confusing situation for him, and usually made his head hurt if he thought too long on it. The house of green and silver was a great source of information, but Harry found himself never being completely sure where he stood in their eyes. It was like walking a tightrope in a tempest, requiring a great deal of effort to balance between friendliness, cutting remarks, sarcasm, and secrets. The situation only gets more complicated when considering how a large section of the house genuinely despised him for whatever reason.

Harry rubbed the back of his forever messy hair, "Well there's Pucey, Zabini, Davis, Greengrass, and uh… Shafiq," Harry listed off on his fingers as he thought about the various Slytherin students he would speak to on occasion. "Pucey and Shafiq both are going into 7th year, but Zabini, Davis, and Greengrass all said that they felt it went reasonably well. They mentioned offhandedly that some of the material covered on the OWLs they learnt over the summer, and that Snape gave them some extra lessons in the weeks leading up to the final. Oh, and Megan Jones from Ravenclaw said she found it quite difficult, but she wasn't part of the D.A."

"Bloody hell Snape gave them extra lessons… why doesn't McGonagall ever do that?" Ron asked aloud.

"Probably because she was doing her best to keep the school from self-destructing," Harry laughed, "and I think she already knew that almost our entire house was going to the D.A."

"I wasn't thinking about Defense mate, I was ready for that one, I was thinking about some extra lessons in Transfiguration," Ron grumbled. Harry could clearly remember the long nights that Ron endured in preparation for the Transfiguration OWL, moaning and groaning like a wounded animal waiting to be put out of its misery.

"Do you think you'll restart the D.A. this year, Harry?" Ginny asked with seemed to be a bit of hope in her voice.

"I was wondering the exact same thing! I think it would be a great idea, especially since it was such a good way of promoting inter-house unity. I exchanged letters over the summer with a lot of new students because of it, and they were all asking if we would be starting it up again in the new school year," Hermione chattered excitedly.

Harry paused before answering, knowing that they wouldn't like his response, "Listen… I had a lot of fun running the D.A. last year, it was actually the highlight of my year. There's nothing I would want more than to run the D.A. again this year, but I don't think I can…"

"Why?!" all three of his friends chorused together.

"I just can't, I won't be able to dedicate enough time to the D.A. this year," he explained, thinking about his private lessons with Dumbledore that he wasn't allowed to tell his friends about, "the last thing I want is to start up the D.A. and then completely abandon it because I don't have enough time to dedicate to it. There's just too much going on in my life right now."

A look of dawning recognition crossed his friends' faces after hearing what he had to say. Harry figured they were smart enough to understand what he was talking about, without spelling it out for them.

"Well a lot of people wanted it to come back, so you might have to be the bearer of bad news when we get back to Hogwarts. But I could be the one to do it if you want, the D.A. was originally my idea," Hermione suggested.

"No, no it's fine Hermione, I'll be the one to do it. They wanted me to run it again this year, so I'll be the one to tell them I can't do it. There is no need for me to hide, but thanks anyways."

"It's because of Tom isn't it?" Ginny suddenly spoke up. Ron and Hermione looked confused at the name, but Harry nodded as he knew exactly who she meant.

Ginny used the name Tom in almost an intimate manner, but it made sense seeing as the 16-year-old version of Tom Riddle lived in her mind for a year. The only other person who used the name Tom other than himself and Ginny, was Dumbledore. He once explained to Harry that after teaching for so many years it was tough for him to view former pupils as the men and women they had grown into. To Dumbledore, they were all still the young students roaming the halls in their scarlet, blue, green, and yellow trimmed robes.

"It's always about Tom," Harry chuckled darkly, "when have I not had his monstrous shadow hanging over me."

Ron and Hermione must have figured out what they were talking about, as Ron asked, "It's the prophecy isn't it? That's the reason why Dumbledore picked you up, to tell you about it?"

Dumbledore didn't ban him from speaking about the prophecy, and every fibre in Harry's being was screaming for him to say 'Yes!' but he simply couldn't do it. The memories of what happened at the Department of Mysteries flashed through his mind. He knew that they were stronger united and that he could trust his friends with his life, but he just couldn't say the word.

It was _his_ destiny to confront and defeat Voldemort, not his friends. Harry was resigned to the fact that he would have to become a killer, but that was something he wanted to protect his friends from. He couldn't throw them in harm's way, because he knew that they would willingly step into the line of fire. He saw how woefully outmatched his friends were at the Department of Mysteries, and it was simply a miracle that none of them died. It was just too dangerous and out of their league. Dark times lay ahead, and schoolchildren were not meant to fight in this war.

This is why when Harry finally answered his friends he simply said, "No."

"No?" Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"We didn't talk about the prophecy, it's lost," he lied. "Nobody will ever know what the prophecy says, not me, not Dumbledore, not Voldemort, nobody. The prophecy disappeared the moment Neville dropped it and shattered it on the ground." Harry thought that he'd feel lighter after keeping the prophecy away from his friends, instead the weight in his chest got heavier.

"It's gone…?" Ron said outload looking dumbfounded.

"Completely gone, Dumbledore only wanted to talk about Sirius and everything else that happened in the Ministry."

"That might be for the best, the last thing you would want is to hear the prophecy and let it consume your life. I actually found some fascinating studies done by muggle psychologists on self-fulfilling prophecies-"

"-Hurry up and come down before breakfast gets cold!"

Before Hermione could begin her lecture on the importance of self-fulfilling, she was cut off by Mrs. Weasley's motherly voice. Judging by how quickly Ron jumped to his feet and raced out of the room, he obviously had been eagerly anticipating his mother's call. Ginny quickly followed her brother, in the hopes that he hadn't eaten all of the food in the few seconds he had gotten there before her. Hermione made her way out as well, but lingered at the door.

"Can you hold the door open for me Hermione, I just need to grab a few things," he requested as he leaned over to pick up a sweater and grab the empty tray of food that Fleur had brought up to him. Together, they both made their way downstairs and were greeted with the sight of Ron stuffing what looked like to be three sausages in his mouth, and Ginny doing her best to not look at her brother's eating habits.

"Arry, I 'ope you enjoyed zee breakfast I made for you, I thought you might like to try something a leetle bit lighter. I find zat English food eez a bit 'eavy at times," Fleur commented as she took the empty tray out of his hands.

Before he could respond, Mrs. Weasley cut in, "Harry dear, I think you could do with a little bit more to eat. You're a growing boy, and I've certainly made enough food this morning," she suggested. Mrs. Weasley certainly wasn't lying as there was enough food on the table to feed the entire Weasley clan, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that her offer of food was most likely a defense of her and England's cooking.

Not wanting to get in the middle of a French and British war over food, Harry looked to appease both parties and remain neutral. "It was delicious Fleur," he thanked her with a smile, before grabbing a piece of toast that Mrs. Weasley had just prepared and shooting her a smile as well.

Ginny snorted at how easily he managed to appease both women.

"Do you know when our book lists are coming in?" Harry asked out loud as he took a seat in one of the rickety old chairs scattered across the Weasley's kitchen.

"I'm not entirely sure, I'm surprised we haven't gotten them yet. It's only just over a week until the new year starts and they haven't sent them out. They certainly haven't given us enough time to prepare ourselves for the coming year. I'm bound to forget something and then I'll be forced to wait for the first Hogsmeade weekend or Owl Order it in," Hermione complained as she piled a moderate amount of food onto her plate.

"Whu dgn-n yoh magh a lith-ght," Ron supplied unintelligibly, as the remnants of a rather large sausage were blocking his attempts to speak.

"Eet might 'elp if you clear zee half masticated pig rolling in your mouth, Ronald," Fleur chided, with the slight wrinkle of her nose indicating her disgust. Obviously Ron's eating habits didn't live up to her French standards for table manners. Then again, Harry was fairly certain that very few people, if any, could be as graceful as Fleur in everything she did. Even now just looking at her as she was cleaning the tray of food she took from Harry, she looked completely perfect. Not a hair was out of place, her robes were wrinkle free without one speck of dirt on them either, and she somehow made the act of washing dishes look attractive.

Realizing he was staring, Harry quickly turned his attention back to his friends before getting caught. "Ron was saying, 'why don't you make a list'," Harry informed Hermione. After living in close quarters with him for the past five years, Harry had mastered the art of deciphering Ron's food-filled messages.

"Oh, Ron that's brilliant!" she called out, causing Ron to turn the famous Weasley red, "why didn't I think of that," she said to herself as she pushed away from the table, completely forgetting about her half eaten plate of food. "I'll need to grab a quill and parchment and start on it right away, there a just so many things I'll need to pick up," she said to herself, completely forgetting that there were other people in the room. It was only a moment later, that she was heading upstairs to the room she shared with Ginny.

"Mental that one," Ron said as he finally cleared his plate, "I don't think I have ever met another person who's been excited about making a list before. She goes on about how crazy us wizards are compared to muggles, but I swear she's right up there with us."

"Eez that 'er perception of fun?" Fleur asked quizzically.

"More or less," Harry shrugged, "her idea of some 'light reading' in our first year was an ancient tome on famous alchemists that must have been at least a couple thousand pages long."

"That was the same year she told us that getting expelled was worse than death," Ron added, causing both of them to break out into uncontrollable laughter at the memory. Too put it kindly, Hermione was a bit of a stick in the mud during their first year, but Harry wouldn't have it any other way. She had slowly eased up since them, but her respect for academia and authority hadn't completely gone away. However, that hadn't stopped her from breaking countless rules with Harry and Ron over the years.

"Eet eez painfully obvious 'ow badly she needs a boyfriend," Fleur stated.

"W-w-wh-what… Hermione and a b-b-boyfriend," Ron stuttered out, blushing at the thought, "she definitely doesn't need one, right Harry?" he looked over for support, but didn't receive any. Ron got himself into this situation, and Harry was too amused to do anything other than watch him try to get himself out of it.

"Well zen, I 'ope she lives an 'appy life married to a library," Fleur countered as she turned around and went back to cleaning the remaining dishes in the sink.

"Come on mate, don't you agree," Ron looked at Harry pleadingly, "just imagine if one of the guys at Hogwarts got their grubby hands on her. Like Seamus, or the Zacharias tosser from Hufflepuff… or even Malfoy," he added, looking a bit green at the mention of Malfoy with Hermione. Harry had to agree, it was a rather sick thought.

"And who are you to dictate what I do, and who I can see in my private life," Hermione cut in as she descended the stairs with parchment and a quill in hand.

"You're an idiot, Ron!" Ginny called as she lifted her head from the newest edition of Seeker Weekly that she had been reading on the Weasley's battered old couch.

Ron gulped at the severe glare he was getting from Hermione, but before they could start one of their infamous arguments he was saved by the voice of Mrs. Weasley.

"Post is coming in dears!" she called, opening up one of the kitchen windows in preparation for the approaching owls. As the birds approached the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley used her hand to block out the sun while squinting her eyes looking into the distance, "That's odd… those look like Ministry owls," she said as she unconsciously leaned out the window in order to get a better look. She pulled herself back into the house after a few seconds, and a strange look crossed her face, "Oh my, I wonder what that could be," she added with a small smirk before pulling out her wand to direct the washed plates back into the cupboard, in a way reminiscent of a musical conductor.

"Ministry owls…" Harry turned his head to see Hermione looking out of one of the living room windows, "there's three of them… what could the Ministry possibly want with us? Are we in trouble for what happened in the Department of Mysteries, are they pressing charges?" she asked starting to sound hysterical at the thought of being charged by the magical government of Britain. "I thought Dumbledore said he would take care of the aftermath, so it must be something els-oh…" she suddenly stopped, turning paler than one of the Hogwarts ghosts, "…OWLs!" she screeched.

"Yeah, of course they're owls, Hermione," Ron looked at her with a confused look.

"Not owl's, Ron, I'm talking about _OWLs_!" she waved her arms around in order to exaggerate her point. It was at that moment, that the importance of what Hermione was speaking of dawned on Harry. It felt as if a lead ball had just dropped in his stomach, and was doing its best to pull out all of his innards. It was a feeling that he could only associate with standing beside Oliver Wood in first year, preparing for his Hogwarts Quidditch debut. He felt sick. As did Hermione, and after a few more seconds, so did Ron.

"I've failed! I just know I did! I knew I should have revised at least a few more times before each exam. I knew OWL year was hard, everyone said it would be, but I can't believe I did so poorly. There definitely were a few runes I mixed the meaning of, and a transfiguration that I'm sure I got the texture completely wrong. I should have studied harder, spent more time in the library. This is the wor-"

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, cutting off the ravings of a mad woman. "Can you please stop it! Just think about us normal blokes for one second, if _you_ somehow failed just think about how poorly _we_ did," he pointed at himself and Harry.

"Don't lump me together with you, git," Harry pretended to be offended, getting a laugh out of his red-headed friend.

"You did great, Hermione. Dean was telling me that he thinks you're secretly one of those muggle robats-"

"Robots," Harry corrected Ginny.

"- _robots_. He said it was the only explanation for how much you studied," she finished.

Hermione flushed at the praise she received, just as the owls flew in through the window. Immediately, she ran over and snatched the envelopes from their talons before they even landed. "It's really them…" Hermione stated reverently as she made her way back to the kitchen table, "Ginny, they attached your school list as well," she added, before distributing all of the envelopes.

There was a moment of silence in the Weasley kitchen as the former OWL students each held what seemed to be the most important document in their life. Curiosity, fear, and anticipation filled the air, as they stared at the envelopes with such an intensity it is a wonder that they did not spontaneously combust. It was hard to believe that hundreds of hours of study, practice, and revision culminated in one piece of paper. For most, these were the grades that would shape a person's future and either make or break their dreams of employment.

Harry looked up to see Hermione appear to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, her fingers trembling and frizzy hair looking as if she had been given an electric shock. His eyes moved over to Ron, who looked like he backfired the slug-vomiting hex again, and had beads of sweat trailing from his hairline. But Harry felt fine. He actually felt a bit excited at seeing how the fruits of his labours had paid off this year. Despite it being the worst year of his life, with obstacles being thrown in his path every step of the way, Harry had worked extraordinarily hard. With Voldemort's resurrection at the end of the tournament, it lit the proverbial fire under his arse. He felt as if he had finally stepped into his own during 5th year, and was better filling the role of what people assumed the Boy-Who-Lived should be like. Not like he cared about the title, but it was nice to know that people looked up to him as a great wizard.

To Harry, the piece of paper in his hand was just that… a piece of paper. It would be nice if he did well on his exams, especially since he put in a lot of effort, but they weren't the be all end all of his existence. He told professor McGonagall that he wanted to be an auror partially because it was the first thing to pop into his mind, but also because he wanted to royally piss of Umbridge. It wasn't something he was too concerned with. If he got the grades for it, good. If not, he would survive. Right now, his future was filled with the image of a snake-like monster with glowing red eyes and his only employment option was to kill Voldemort. His OWLs wouldn't change that.

That is exactly why he opened his envelope first.

 **ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

 **Pass Grades Fail Grades**

Outstanding (O) Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

 ** _Harry James Potter has achieved:_**

Astronomy **A**

Care of Magical Creatures **E**

Charms **O**

Defense Against the Dark Arts **O**

Divination **D**

Herbology **A**

History of Magic **D**

Potions **E**

Transfiguration **O**

After reading through the parchment a couple more times, Harry took a deep breath and smiled. He was happy with his results, especially with his three _Outstanding's_. It was a good feeling, knowing that your hard work paid off in the end. His two failures in History of Magic and Divination didn't bother him, he rarely went to the classes and didn't end up studying for either of them. He was actually impressed that he managed to not get a _Troll_ in History of Magic, considering he only wrote the first few pages of the exam before Voldemort attacked his mind. His _Exceeds Expectations_ was a welcome surprise as well, though he did feel a small pang of disappointment that he couldn't scrape out an _Outstanding_ just to rub it in Snape's face. But after years of being tormented in the dungeons, there was only so much he could have taught himself, even with the help of Hermione.

"Harry, mate! You won't believe it," Ron yelled with childlike glee, bringing Harry out of his thoughts, "Transfiguration mate, I did it! I got an 'E' in Transfiguration, this is the greatest day of my life!" he finished, before giving a big wet kiss to where his mark was on the parchment.

"Good job, mate! It's good to know those long nights weren't for nothing," Harry smiled, feeling genuinely happy for his friend. It rarely happened, but whenever Ron was motivated and actually put his mind towards something, his actual intelligence showed.

"Oh Ronald, I'm so proud of my smart little boy!" Mrs. Weasley rushed towards her son and enveloped him in a hug that was surely suffocating him. "I always knew you had it in you! Bill and Charlie both got an 'E' in Transfiguration and look at how well employed they are," she continued as she grabbed his face and started pulling on his cheeks like one would a baby.

Ron was completely flushed in embarrassment over his mother's praise, but Harry noticed how he puffed out his chest slightly and how his blue eyes seemed to gleam with pride. It seemed that knowing he did just as well as two of his successful older brothers in arguably the hardest course offered at Hogwarts, gave him a boost in confidence. "I got an 'O' in Defense as well," he added, causing another scream to shoot out of Mrs. Weasley as she continued to fuss over him.

Turning away from the mother-son interaction, Harry looked over to Hermione who had stayed silent up to that point. "How did you do, Hermione?" he asked, but it she didn't respond, "Hermione?... _Hermione_?" he called again slightly louder this time, which managed to catch her attention.

"S-sorry Harry…" she answered, shaking her head as if to clear whatever errant thoughts were left in there, "what were you asking?"

"I was just wondering how your OWLs went? Did you fail all of them?" he asked cheekily.

She blushed at his joke over her worried nature, "No, no I didn't fail any. I actually got _Outstanding_ in all of my courses…" before Harry could congratulate her, he was cut off, "except for one… I got _Exceeds Expectations_ in Defense," she finished.

The room went silent at her declaration.

"Blimey, Hermione! That's brilliant, I don't think I've ever heard of someone getting so many _Outstanding's._ You'll have to go ask Dumbledore to compare and see who got more between the two of you… wait, you got an 'E' in Defense… Merlin's saggy left-" he cut himself off before he received a smack from both his mother and Hermione, "this _is_ the greatest day of my life. I actually beat Hermione!" he whooped as he danced around the room in celebration of what he must have felt as his greatest achievement in life.

Harry just shook his head at his loveable prat of a friend. Only Ron could have gone from giving the girl he fancied a very sweet compliment, to celebrating over beating her lowest mark that she clearly was upset about, in a single sentence.

As the Weasley's and Hermione continued to talk about their grades, Harry silently slipped outside in the hopes of catching some fresh air and a short break from the usual Weasley chaos. The moment he crossed the threshold, the heat from the sun washed over him and filled him with a sense of peace. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and a gentle breeze that ruffled through his perpetual bedhead. He stood still for a moment, basking in the feeling of the glorious day. Closing his eyes, Harry let his mind wander and take him to places he had only dreamed of. As the wind danced across his skin, he imagined himself on some far off beach, away from all his troubles in the world. It was just too easy to lose himself in the dreams of being somewhere else, other than in the middle of a magical civil war.

The sound of the door to the Burrow closing brought him out of his dreams of far off places. Opening his eyes once again, Harry looked out to see the small pond near the forest where he and Dumbledore arrived last night. As the sound of footsteps grew closer, Harry sensed a distinctly feminine presence, "Hello Fleur," Harry greeted her.

"'Ello Arry," she replied as she drew up beside him, filling the air with the scent of lavender. "I noticed you left before speaking about your grades, eez eet because you are ashamed of your marks? Or deed you do so well that you don't want to shame your friends?"

Harry chuckled, "To be honest it was neither, I just felt like going outside," he replied. Passing the parchment into Fleur's hands he adds, "you can take a look at my grades if you want?"

"No zanks, Arry, I don't need a piece of paper to tell me about your talents. I competed against you non?" she raises an eyebrow as if daring him to challenge her assessment of him. "Besides, I theenk zat your British way of doing things eez foolish."

"How so? Is it different in France?" Harry asked genuinely curious.

"Of course, in France eet is much better," she answered in her haughty voice, that Harry had grown to like. "I do not see ze point of taking two tests. In France we only take one test at ze end of our sixth year. Zhen, based off ze marks we spend our seventh year finding apprenticeships, internships, or working part time in our chosen field while finishing our studies."

"That's actually really interesting," Harry honestly replied, "but weren't you here at Hogwarts for your seventh year?"

"Yes, I was," she said with a small frown, "but I was a Triwizard Champion, non? I think zat chasing eternal glory eez a good enough excuse for me," she joked with a teasing smile, "Besides, I was right where my employers wanted me to be."

"Gringotts wanted you at Hogwarts?" Harry asked slightly confused.

"Eet eez a bit more complicated zan that," she replied, not elaborating any further. They both stood there in silence for a moment enjoying each other's company, "It's beautiful non?" Fleur spoke, breaking the lull in sound.

"Did you just compliment British weather? I never thought I'd live to see you compliment something British, especially our weather," Harry did his best to appear shocked, "I recall that being one of the first things you complained about when you arrived at Hogwarts for the tournament."

"You are not as funny as you zhink," Fleur deadpanned, but Harry was certain he saw the corner of her lip quiver. He'd seen the same thing enough times on professor McGonagall's face to know that he had succeeded in amusing her. "I compliment you, Arry," she purred, "are you not British?" she laughed at how quickly he flushed from the compliment. "Oh, Arry, you are too easy to tease. You are so innocent zat I might 'ave to protect you from my sister Gabrielle ze next time you meet."

"How is your sister?" he asked, picturing the mini version of Fleur he dragged out of the Black Lake during the second task. He was a fool to think the hostages would ever be put in any danger, but the beaming smile of pure joy he received from the little girl was a good enough reward for what Dumbledore liked to call his 'moral fiber'.

"She eez in love wiz you," she answered with a cheeky grin, causing Harry to groan. "She keeps ze photograph you took together beside 'er bed. Right before I left for England, she asked maman eef she could arrange a marriage contract. Maman said she would 'ave to ask you in person," she continued, trying to see how much she could embarrass her emerald eyed friend. Judging by the color of his face and the soft whimpers escaping Harry's lips, it was obvious she had done enough.

"You miss her?" Harry asked as he sensed a bit of longing in her tone as she spoke about her sister. It was one of the things Harry wished he could have experienced in life, having a sibling. Spending so much time with the Weasley's, exposed him to a side of life he never had experienced and it was something he observed very closely. What must seem like everyday life for the Weasley's, always fascinated Harry. Every conversation, every joke, every prank, every fight, it all had a deep underlying tone of love. Even when they spoke of Percy, Harry could pick up on the longing and regret they held over their estranged son and brother. The closest thing Harry had to a sibling was Hermione, but there was no comparing the love they held for each other to what a true family had.

"Oui, I do," she answered, confirming Harry's thoughts, "I never 'ad ze opportunity to really say goodbye to Gabrielle. I started work almost immediately out of school and zen I was sent over 'ere," a sad look crossed her pale blue eyes as she finished, but she quickly regained her usual composure.

"Was there no way for you to stay in France? I mean your English was always pretty good, I never thought it needed that much work."

"Zer was no other option, I am needed 'ere in Britain," she replied a little stiffly, but before Harry could ask her anymore questions they were interrupted by a call from the house.

"Oi, Harry! Come back in and get dressed, we're heading out to Diagon Alley to pick up all of our stuff!" Ron called, his head sticking out of the small window in their shared room.

"You going to come with us?" Harry looked up at Fleur's angelic face. Sometimes he wondered how a person could live their life looking that good.

"Why not," she supplied, "zhere eez not much else for me to do 'ere, besides we 'ave much more to catch up on," and with that they both slowly made their way back up the path to the Burrow.

In typical Weasley fashion, the five minutes it should have taken everyone to get ready stretched into almost an hour of chaos. Sitting in the chair by the fireplace, Harry listened as Mrs. Weasley stomped up and down the stairs yelling at her children to get ready. Hermione was finishing up her list of supplies she needed to pick up in the alley, Ginny was looking throughout the house for her new pair of jeans, and Ron was trying to sneak in a second breakfast not knowing if they were going to pick up food at The Leaky Cauldron. Ginny blamed Ron for losing her jeans, Ron blamed the garden gnomes, and somehow their argument dissolved into a fight over whether Holyhead or Chudley had the better keeper. It was a dishevelled and out of breath looking Mrs. Weasley that finally corralled her two youngest children by the floo. Harry simply marvelled at the fact that Mrs. Weasley somehow managed to raise seven children and a muggle-obsessed husband without the house ever burning down.

It was with a flash of green that Harry found himself flying through time and space, before being ejected and landing on his arse. "As graceful as ever, Mr. Potter," called the familiar voice of Tom from behind the bar. Doing his best to dust himself off, Harry picked himself up off the floor before heading over to the rest of the Weasley's who had already come through.

"At least I came out of the right fireplace this time," he answered Tom with a grin, earning a chuckle out of the old bartender. Over the years of getting to know Tom, he learnt that his adventure into Knockturn Alley was one of Tom's favorite stories.

Seeing the inquiring look on Fleur's face as he rejoined the group, Harry elaborated on the story, "The first time I ever used the floo, I mispronounced 'Diagon Alley' and I shot out of the completely wrong fireplace. Turns out I ended up in Borgin and Burkes, which a place no twelve-year-old should be, then I had an unfortunate encounter with a hag, before our groundskeeper Hagrid rescued me."

"Your penchant for findeeng trouble never seizes to amaze me," Fleur shook her head in amusement, "judging by your entrance, you are only slightly less incompetent zan before."

"What can I do, magical travel just doesn't agree with me," Harry shrugged as he exited the pub and followed the Weasley's through the archway into Diagon Alley.

Walking into the magical hub of Britain always brought a smile to Harry's face. To him, it was simply the greatest place he had ever been. The people, the colour, the chaos, the culture, it was simply… _magical_ , for lack of a better word. There was always something new, something exciting that managed to catch his eye. The beauty of magical culture could be summed up with a stroll through the alley.

"Gather around, gather around everybody!" called a familiar voice from in front of Hobb's, Bogs and Frogs, the potion ingredient store, "let's organize ourselves before we go shopping," Harry looked for the source of the voice and was met with the kindly image of a wizard with balding red hair and a recently patched up brown robe.

"Mr. Weasley!" Harry called out, "It's great to see you, how are you doing?" he extended his hand and was given a firm shake by the Weasley patriarch.

"I'm doing fine, it's just that the Ministry has been in a right old mess ever since they opened their eyes to the truth. Got myself a promotion, have a few people working underneath me for a change, but Merlin knows I'm working now more than ever. I'm afraid age is finally starting to catch up to me," he laughed good naturedly. "You are looking good though, Harry!" suddenly a more somber look took over his face, as he lowered his voice so only Harry could hear, "I never had the chance before, but I'd like to give my condolences for Sirius. I didn't know him as well as others, and I know Molly would sometimes be a little hard on the man, but I could tell that he was a good man. A good man who cared a lot about you, and did his godfatherly duty until the last," he finished, putting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder

In that moment, Harry considered Mr. Weasley to be the kindest and greatest man to have ever walked the earth. Doing his best to fight the tears that were threatening to spill from his emerald eyes, Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and met the gaze of Arthur, "T-th-thank you… Mr. Weasley, it m-means a lot," he wiped his eyes quickly and laughed awkwardly before continuing, "and congratulations on your promotion, I couldn't think of a more deserving man."

"You're a good and strong lad, Harry. Whatever you face in your future, I'm certain you will come out on top. You've lived a tougher life then countless men, there are no doubts in my mind that some good fortune will find you eventually. I do have a favour to ask you if it's not to much…"

"Anything, Mr. Weasley," he replied instantly.

"The next time you see Remus, talk to him, let him know that he's not alone. If there was any man in the world whose life has been as tragic as yours, it would be that man's. Maybe write to him as well, that owl of yours is smarter than any I have ever seen, I'm sure she won't have any problems finding him."

Harry nodded absently as Mr. Weasley turned and started speaking to his children. Harry's thoughts took him to the last remaining connection he had to his parents. The more he thought on it, the more he realized just how tough life had been on the man. He was bitten at the age of five and forced into a childhood of isolation, living in constant fear of isolation and abandonment. Not only that, but he had to endure the deaths and betrayal of the most important people in his life. Harry could only wish to be as strong as his former professor.

Lupin had always been a constant presence in his life, mostly on the periphery, but he was always there. Harry still remembered waking up after a particularly lonely night in his cupboard, wishing that something good would happen for once on his birthday. It was July 31st 1985, his fifth birthday, and Harry woke up early to make the Dursley's their usual breakfast. After serving his relatives and cleaning their dishes, Harry finally gave up on the hope that they would wish him a Happy Birthday and made his way to his cupboard. The single knock on the door that he heard, was just as vivid in his memories as it was in real life. The sound seemed to echo throughout the front corridor of the house, but only Harry heard it. He remembered slowly walking to the front door, ready to greet some stranger that the Dursley's knew, only to find a small stuffed wolf sitting on the front stoop. Looking up and down the street outside, Harry didn't see a soul, and when he looked down he saw a small note attached to the wolf, ' _Happy Birthday Harry!_ ' it read. He remembered holding it as if it were the most precious piece of china in the world and rushed to his cupboard. Stroking the worn grey fur of the wolf, he was filled with a feeling that he could only guess to be _love_. It was his first ever gift, and a connection to the past. It was only last year that Harry learnt that the stuffed wolf was one of his favorite toys as a baby, and that Remus had left it on the front step that morning. The wolf still resided in his school trunk to this day.

Remus was also the man who had taken hours out of his day to tell him about his parents during 3rd year and painstakingly taught Harry how to produce the patronus charm. It was Remus along with his 'pet' Grim who came to support him during every Triwizard task, and calmed him after his vision of Nagini attacking Mr. Weasley. Most importantly, it was Remus who despite his grief, held Harry back from chasing Sirius through the veil. The least he could do was contact the man who was suffering just as much as he was at the moment.

"…ry! Harry, are you listening?" a voice broke through his thoughts. Lifting his head, Harry saw the concerned look on Fleur's face before he turned to the source of the voice, "We were saying that we are all going to Flourish and Blotts first to pick up our books, is that alright with you?"

Focusing back on the point of their trip into Diagon Alley, school supplies, Harry remembered one of the things he needed to pick up, "Actually, I need to head over to Madam Malkin's for some new clothes and robes. Do you think you could pick up my books for me, Hermione? I'll pay you back when we get back to the Burrow."

"Uh… sure Harry I can do that for you. Do you really think you should be heading over there on your own, given the current climate?" she asked sounding uncertain.

"I will go wiz Arry. I am an of age witch, and I zhink people will zhink twice before confronting two Triwizard Champions, non?" Fleur cut in.

"Why don't we just tag along and all go together. I wouldn't mind picking up some new clothes," Ginny suggested.

"I think not, Ginevra," Mrs. Weasley rebuked, eliciting a growl Tonks would be proud of from Ginny over the use of her first name, "we only just bought you and Ronald new clothes last year. We can't go spending more money, even with your father's new promotion."

"It's fine Mrs. Weasley, I have no problem going with Fleur. I doubt that Voldemort would come out here and try anything in broad daylight," the Weasley's and Hermione jumped at hearing the name, "especially with all of the extra aurors patrolling," he added, looking around at all of the red robed law enforcement officers walking around the various stores.

"That sounds fine, Harry," Mr. Weasley responded before his wife could try and say anything, "why don't we meet up at Fred and George's new shop? I'm sure you are dying to see it."

"Brilliant!" Harry beamed, he couldn't wait to see what the twins had come up with. Despite what their academic record stated, Fred and George were geniuses in their own right, and Harry knew his investment wouldn't have gone to waste. "We'll meet you there!" Harry called as he passed over his OWL results to Hermione so she could purchase his schoolbooks.

The two groups parted from one another and headed off in opposite directions. "I've been meaning to ask you, why do Ginny and Hermione seem to hate you so much?" Harry asked Fleur as they made their way through the afternoon crowds.

"I doubt zey 'ate me, I would 'ope zey are not that petty," she scoffed.

"Okay, whatever you want to call it, why are they acting that way?"

"Zey are entirely too insecure," she said honestly, "your friend Hermione does not like zat she eez not the smartest person in the 'ouse-"

"When did this come up?" Fleur simply raised an eyebrow at how Harry interrupted her, "uh… sorry," he blushed.

"Eet is alright, Arry, I simply expect better from you. When your friend first came to ze 'ouse, she was giving poor Ronald a lecture on advance charms. Charms eez my area of expertise, so I decided to give zem some advice. Apparently she did not like my attempt to 'elp."

"There's got to be more to it than that…" Harry looked at her knowingly.

"Well… she decided to give me a lecture on 'ow I was wrong, so I seemply showed 'er zat I was correct. Eet eez not my fault she cannot 'andle friendly advice."

"Was it really friendly though," Harry laughed, "or was it said in the same way that a 'leetle' boy couldn't compete in the Triwizard tournament," he finished with a smirk.

A faint blush grew on Fleur's cheeks at the memory of her arrogant comment, "Eet eez not my fault she eez so sensitive," she huffed in frustration before pouting cutely.

"Alright, alright, I was just teasing Fleur," he chuckled, "what did you do to Ginny?"

"Ah, leetle Ginevra," she sighed, "Ze first time I saw 'er I asked if something 'appened to 'er normal clothes, and if she would like to borrow mine."

"That doesn't sound so bad?"

"I then said zat 'er brothers would like zer clothes back," Harry flinched, imagining how Ginny would have reacted to that comment, "I was being 'onest, I thought zat she dirtied 'er clothes and borrowed Ronald's. 'ow was I supposed to know zat she likes wearing boy clothes in ze summer."

"Ginny isn't the biggest fan on getting fashion advice…"

"At least eet wasn't in front of you,"

"Me? Why would I matter?" Harry looked at Fleur quizzically.

"Oh Arry, you are so innocent. I 'ave known Ginevra for only a few weeks and I see 'ow much she loves you," she smirked.

"L-l-loves m-me?" Harry stammered out, looking at Fleur as if she was crazy. He knew that Ginny used to have a crush on him when they were younger, but he was certain she got over it. She hadn't put her elbow in any more dishes of butter ever since she dated Michael and Dean. Ginny loved him? The idea of that was too much for his brain to handle. "I doubt it Fleur, she has a boyfriend, Dean, right now."

"Arry, in the real world zat eez not something zat 'olds girl back from what zey want. There eez nobody less innocent than a teenage girl, trust me, I am one," she winked. Before Harry could respond, Fleur grabbed him by the arm and slowed down as she spotted a particular sign, "This eez the place?"

"Yeah it is. Is it me, or did we get here faster than normal?" Harry asked himself. As he looked around the surrounding area, he spotted why they managed to speed through the crowd. Almost every wizard in a twenty-person radius stood slack jawed and perfectly still, staring at the angelic figure that is Fleur Delacour. "Merlin, I think I might take you everywhere with me just to avoid lineups... how do you survive with this much staring and attention?" he asked looking at her.

"You are one to talk Arry, non?" she giggled, "Ze men might be staring at me, but almost all ze women are staring at The-Boy-Who-Lived, ze Triwizard Winner, ze Chosen On-"

"Alright, enough, I get it!" Harry cut her off, "You don't need to remind me of those bloody names," he grumbled, causing Fleur to laugh at his discomfort.

"Oh Arry, you and Victor could 'ave a competition over who eez more uncomfortable wiz their fame. I don't zink I could possibly pick a winner, you both brood so well."

"Hey, I definitely am the better brooder!" Harry pretended to be scandalized, "But I have to admit that Victor definitely has the better scowl between us," he smiled as Fleur burst out laughing. As they both tried to control themselves, a moment passed when their eyes locked and for a split second Harry thought Fleur's smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

"Oh look mother, we left just at the right time," came an irritatingly familiar drawl, "the last thing I wanted to do today was sully myself with undesirables. Scar-head and his pet bird, what a pathetic sight to behold."

The blush that had crept onto his face and the moment he had just shared with Fleur came crashing down as he was met with the sight of Draco Malfoy. "It's lovely to see you too, Draco. Mrs. Malfoy, you look beautiful as always," Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment, trying his best to irritate the blonde Slytherin.

"Don't speak to my mother that way, Potter," he spat in anger.

"Did he not compliment your mother, Mr. Malfoy? I did not see any offence being made. Eet seem as if you 'ave forgotten your manners Mr. Malfoy, is zat not an important part of being a respectable member of pureblood society? Zen again, you English 'ave never been ones for manners, per'aps zat is why ze Malfoy family was forced to leave France…" Fleur mocked in the haughty and superior aristocratic voice that she seemed to have perfected.

"I would watch what you say about my family, we have some very powerful friends…" he paused after his threat before turning to face Harry, "Is this why you carry her around, Potter? Do you need this…this _creature_ to fight your battles for you?"

" _Draco…_ " Narcissa hissed warningly as she grabbed hold of his left wrist, causing him to flinch.

"Must I remind you zat this _creature_ , eez the eldest daughter of ze Delacour Family of France. Per'aps you should learn to control your tongue when you forget such details," Draco paled slightly at the reminder of which family this particular Veela belonged to.

Doing his best to recompose himself, Draco readied himself for one final remark, "You know, Potter, I heard the most interesting thing over the summer. You see, I have this aunt who has a certain proclivity for eliminating troublesome pests, and just a few weeks ago she came to me with a great story. She told me about a dog she knew who always seemed to be causing problems when growing up, and just didn't know when to shut up. Well, this aunt told me that just a few months ago she ran into this particular dog… and do you know what she did? I'm certain you do?" he taunted, causing Narcissa to go white as a sheet and Harry to tremble in rage, "She told me that all it took was a little push and… _poof_ , the stinking mutt disappeared forever."

Harry saw red and a terrifying amount of rage bubbled up inside him. It felt almost like he wasn't in control of his body. His finger twitched on his holly wand, as the cruciatus curse was on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn't have been the first time he used it and he was certain he would get it right, because this time he would really _mean_ it. But before he could test his luck, Draco was saved by his mother.

"Enough of this foolishness, Draco, we are leaving," she nudged her son forward before he elbowed his way past Harry. As Narcissa followed her son, Harry was certain he heard her whisper 'sorry' under her breath while giving him an apologetic look.

Even with the departure of the Malfoy's, Harry's pent up rage was still threatening to boil over. That was until he suddenly felt himself cool down. He felt at peace for a moment, almost as if someone had breathed new life into him. Looking down, Harry saw Fleur's delicate hand placed over top of his. Looking back up, Harry gave her a tight smile in thanks. "Arry, do you want to talk?" she whispered, and when he didn't respond, she pulled on his hand and led him to a bench outside the store.

Overwhelmed with emotions, Harry sat in silence on the bench with his head in his hands. "Why…" Harry breathed out, "why are there people like _him_ in this world? This fucked up world is filled with vile people, and apparently it's my fate to have to deal with the worst of them," he looked up into Fleur's pitying face, seeing her lip tremble slightly at the bare emotion in his voice. "It's not like there's any good to balance it all out," he chuckled darkly, "life has decided that I don't deserve any of that either."

He felt a foreign warmth come upon his face as Fleur cupped his cheek with her hand and wiped something from it. He was such an emotional wreck at that point, that it took him a moment to realize he had started crying. "Arry you are strong, I 'ave witnessed eet myself," she murmured softly.

"Strong? No, definitely not strong. Would you consider a punching bag to be strong?" he asked rhetorically, "Resilient… maybe. Yeah resilient would be a good word, but definitely not strong," he admitted his darkest doubts, as the walls of his self-control continued to crumble. Malfoy's words had cut deep, and they had cut into a wound that had not yet healed. Sirius' death had festered inside him, with a sharp stinging pain stabbing him in the back at each mention of his godfather. "There was a single moment in my life a few years back where I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I finally found family, my godfather, a person who loved me unconditionally and was willing to take me in as his own without a second thought. We were only together for about ten minutes, but that didn't stop me. In my excitement, I listed off all of the places we could go together and live. The places I dreamed of going when I was a kid, the pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall of China, Stonehenge, the Eiffel Tower and the rest of France, the United States of America, the rainforests in South America. And you know what he said?" Harry paused to see Fleur shake her head, "he took me by the shoulders and told me 'Kiddo, we'll go wherever you want just as long as it's me and you'… and now he's dead."

Silence stretched between them for what felt like hours, as Fleur eyes glistened with wetness, "Ze Ministry…" she said, breaking the silence, "zat terrible boy was speaking about what 'appened at ze Ministry," she reasoned out to herself before getting a nod in confirmation from Harry, "Zen Sirius Black was your godfather... oh Arry I am so sorry," she cried before embracing him, "I am ze newest member of your Order, I deed not know. Ze other members do not like speaking about what 'appened zat night."

"That night was a nightmare come to life, all because of Voldemort and his damn prophecy," he uttered under his breath as images of that night flashed through his mind causing him to flinch. "Damn him and damn that prophecy! I'm not strong enough… I'm sitting here crying over Sirius when I should be moving on with my life and preparing fo-" Harry cut himself off before he gave away sensitive information.

"Preparing for what?" Fleur looked at him with poorly concealed curiosity. For a second Harry thought Fleur was egging him on, but he quickly dismissed it. He knew Fleur, there was no way she would manipulate him for information.

"N-no-nothing… nothing, don't worry about it. Just preparing for my annual brush with death," Harry joked, giving her a fake smile. Technically he wasn't lying, he always ran into trouble and this year, with the prophecy, his brush with death could easily come at the hands of Voldemort now that he was out in the open. "Let's go pick up my new clothes, how about I buy you a new dress too given that I've pretty much ruined your current one with my tears," he offered as he picked himself up from the bench and held the door open for Fleur before following her into the store.

They spent too much time shopping for clothes in Harry's opinion. Fleur was in her element, flying through the racks with Madam Malkin and picking out armfuls of clothing for him to try on. Modelling their various selections was more than a bit embarrassing, but he persevered knowing that Fleur was enjoying herself. He ended up with an entire new wardrobe of shirts, pants, jeans, sweaters, shoes, robes, and other articles of clothing that he wasn't exactly sure what they were. But he trusted Fleur, she was always well dressed and was from France, so he assumed she was up to date on the latest fashion trends. He went through with his promise and bought Fleur a new dress as well. Even now thinking back on it, he blushed at how she came out and modelled it for him, asking how she looked with a knowing smirk.

"I still don't see why I needed to buy all of this," he grumbled as he stuffed the shrunk bag into his pocket.

"Complaining eez not an admirable quality in men, Arry," she scolded, "besides eet was necessary. From what I recall, most of your clothes are no better zan rags, and ze nice things you do own are now out of style. You are a celebrity and an important part of magical society, eet eez important for you to look ze part as well."

"Who cares what fantasies they have about me. I don't see why I should care and why it matters," he protested.

"Zen you really are a foolish leetle boy," she stated, causing Harry to flinch at the obvious dig at him. He had forgotten about this side of Fleur. Her blunt and superior attitude was great when it acted in your favour, but it was a hard pill to swallow when it was directed at you. It was easy to understand why Hermione and Ginny weren't Fleur's biggest fans.

Before Harry could respond to Fleur, he was met with the sight of the ugliest, most eccentric, yet awe inspiring building he had ever laid eyes on. "Weasley Wizard Wheezes," Harry read out loud, bursting into laughter at what his money had helped build. Located at Number 93 Diagon Alley stood the gaudy purple and orange building that caught the eye of every person passing bye. Harry's eyes started to hurt by just looking at it for more than a few seconds.

As they approached the building, Harry started laughing again at a sign that called Voldemort 'U-No-Poo' in an advertisement for a magical laxative. "Zey are going to get themselves murdered," Fleur said after reading the sign, but Harry could tell she found it amusing by how her lip curled up slightly.

"I think its brilliant," Harry smiled as he pushed his way into the crowded store with Fleur. Looking around, he was absolutely amazed with what the twins had come up with. There was a section on the far wall called 'Weasley's Un-Educational Decrees' where they kept a variety of indoor and wet-start fireworks, along with their infamous Portable Swamp. He saw another section of the store decorated to look like Ollivanders, that sold their trick wands. He saw their Extendable Ears, Canary Creams, and something called a Pygmy Puff.

"Oi Gred! Lookie here, seems as if we managed to steal ickle Harrikans breath away."

"That's not good Forge, I hope he doesn't need muggle mouth to mouth resuscitation because I won't be the one to give it to him."

Harry turned at the sound of the familiar voices and was confronted by two identical redheaded wizards, one wearing an expensive plum colored dragon hide robe and the other wearing an identical robe, but in magenta. "This place is incredible, it's better than I could ever have imagined."

"Oh, Harrikans we are touched. Coming from you, that means the world," the one in magenta, Fred, wiped imaginary tears from his eyes; while the one in plum, George, broke down into hysterical fake sobs. Harry learned how to tell between them years ago with the help of Alicia, Angelina, and Wood. It wouldn't have done them any good calling the wrong player during a Quidditch match, so the team was let in on the secret on how to distinguish the two. But even now, Harry sensed that their magic was slightly different.

After a few seconds of playing around, the twins immediately sobered, "But in all honesty, Harry, we really want to thank you. This place is all we have ever hoped for and seeing how much everyone loves it is the greatest thing in the world," George said gratefully.

"We would also like to thank you for escorting Bill's French flower to our humble little shop," Fred added, as he bowed and kissed Fleur's hand pretending to be a gentleman. Fleur simply rolled her eyes at their antics.

"Anyways, we wanted to tell you about the shop and how business is going. We've got a section for muggle magic tricks, they're not the biggest sellers but they give us steady business so we keep them," George explained as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder, pointing to what he was speaking about.

"Over there we've got our biggest seller," Fred cut in as he threw his arm around Harry's other shoulder and pointed to another corner of the store, "That, good sir, is our WonderWitch section. Pimple Vanishers, Daydream Potions, Everlasting Perfume, Love Potions and more... everything a young witch could ever need," he exclaimed dramatically, "smartest move we ever made was selling that stuff, girls just eat it all up."

"Since we like you so much, we do have to warn you, Harry," George whispered in his ear, "A lot of Hogwarts girls have been hovering around our love potion section and we've heard your name bounce around from time to time."

Harry paled at the thought of what they were suggesting, "Just make sure you test your food and drink. Our potions are mostly harmless, otherwise the Ministry would crack down on us, but that doesn't mean some girl might not try and brew a more serious potion," Fred warned.

"I think we've scared you enough for one day. If you look around the store again, you'll see a lot of our classics that finally made it out of the testing stage."

"Who does the testing?" Harry asked.

"Us mostly," George pointed at the two of them, "in the future we're hoping to hire some people to help run the counter. Inventing is what we love to do and we wouldn't test our products on anybody but ourselves. In the next few years we're hoping to be doing that full time, while others run the day-to-day operations."

"This eez most impressive," Fleur complimented, looking genuinely impressed as she examined various products.

"Why thank you madam, maybe we could use some of your French connections if we ever expand beyond Britain," Fred suggested, his eyes glazing over at the thought of Weasley Wizard Wheezes becoming a worldwide brand.

"Harry mate, you finally got here, isn't this place bloody amazing!" Ron called as he made his way towards them through the store. "There you two are, I've searched the whole store twice now," he said as he spotted Fred and George, "how much for this?" he asked as he held up one of their Skiving Snackboxes.

"7 sickles," the twins answered together.

"Wait, I'm your brother… isn't there some sort of family deal?" he asked hopefully.

Looking over at the twins, the look on their faces gave away what they were going to say next, "8 sickles then!" they chorused together. Harry had to choke back his laughter as Ron's face did its best impression of a tomato.

Before Ron could say anything else, the twins hooked their arms around Harry and started to lead him across the store, "While you are searching for those 8 sickles, Ronniekins, we are going to take Harry in the back for a private talk. Make sure you keep Fleur company," George instructed.

"Oh, and try not to drool!" Fred called over his shoulder as they walked through a small door into what looked like a storage room.

"So what did you want to show me?" Harry asked, curious as to why they took him out back.

"We wanted to show you where we really make our money," George said in a conspiring tone. As they led Harry to a small workbench, Fred pulled out and emptied a large burlap sack, "We got contracted by the Ministry to directly supply them with defensive products we came up with."

"We've got Shield Hats and Shield Robes, since a lot of Ministry employees can't cast a proper shield," Fred explained, causing Harry to feel disgusted at how incompetent some people are, "We've also got Decoy Detonators, you set a timer on them and then they'll make a big enough distraction for you to get away if necessary. One of the coolest things we're selling to the Ministry is Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," he added as he pulled out what looked to be a clump of coal, "you throw this thing down, and it explodes into a pitch black cloud that covers a twenty-foot area."

"Can you dispel it?" Harry questioned, thinking about all of the potential uses of the powder. Defensive objects were something that intrigued Harry, and he read about them quite frequently. A lot of them were useless or only worked in certain situations, like Foe-Glass, Secrecy Sensors, and Sneakoscopes. However, there are a select few objects that are genuinely useful, and the darkness powder seemed like it would be one of them.

"Nope, it gives you impenetrable darkness for thirty seconds to a minute, depending on how concentrated the cloud is. But… there is a secret," Fred teased, catching Harry's attention, "Since we ordered tons of this stuff directly from the suppliers in Peru, they gave as a little token of their appreciation for our current and future business," Fred explained as he pulled out a small piece of parchment, " _Post tenebras lux_ is the incantation to the only spell that will allow the castor to see through the darkness."

"The spell works too, we've tested it," George added excitedly, "but it's a trade secret. Our supplier told us that only a select few people in the world know the spell, and apparently its protected by something similar to the Fidelius Charm."

"That's why we have to do this," Fred said as he incinerated the slip of parchment.

"Why can I know it then? Surely if only a few people in the world know this spell, it would be limited to only people your suppliers chose."

"Ah, but your forgetting one itsy bitsy little detail, Harry," at Harry's look of confusion George continued, "you, good sir, are our financer. After you gave us that start-up money, we made you a silent partner to our business. Therefore, it is you right to know the spell."

"Clever of us wasn't it," Fred looked pleased. "Right now would also be a good time to tell you that it's also your right to take whatever you want from this store for no charge."

"Starting with this!" George exclaimed as he threw another bag onto the table, "This baby is filled with Decoy Detonators, Peruvian Darkness Powder, and some more of our classic goodies. Just make sure you tell people where you got it from," he joked as he slapped Harry on the back.

"I can't do that!" Harry protested, feeling almost as if he was taking advantage of the twins.

"You don't pay here, Harry… now accept our bag of goodies before we tell people to use our products on you until you break down and agree. Either way, Harry, you are going to be leaving this store with that bag," Fred threatened, but Harry could see the mischief dancing in his yes.

"Alright, fine, I'll take it… but only because I don't feel like being stuck in a swamp for the rest of my life."

"I knew you would come around, Harrikans, didn't you Gred?"

"Why yes Forge, we can be quite persuasive we needed."

Just as he was about to leave, Harry remembered something, "Is that betting pool on Ron and Hermione still running?"

"Of course!" Fred almost yelled, looking offended at the thought that they would close the pool, "we are honourable business men as well as bookies."

"Katie's taken over the betting pool for this year, since we're gone along with Angelina and Alicia," Fred explained.

"We then have Seamus to take over the year after that if necessary. Never fear, Harry, we will eventually find a winner."

"Not to mention, we also have _a lot_ of galleons riding on this thing."

"I'm glad to hear that," Harry laughed at how well the twins played off of one another, "See you guys!" Harry called before picking up his gift and making his way back to the front of the store where the rest of the group was congregated.

"Zis was your work?" Fleur asked, as she came up beside him while they were leaving the store.

"Yeah, they were telling me for the longest time about their dream to open a joke shop after graduating from Hogwarts, so I gave them the Triwizard winnings. I didn't really want the prize money after… you know… what happened to Ced-"

Harry was cut off by Fleur's hand squeezing his arm, "I understand Arry, you do not 'ave to explain what 'appened. You did a good thing giving ze twins zat money," she finished before they walked in silence the rest of the way to The Leaky Cauldron.

"Alright Everybody!" called Mr. Weasley in front of the out-going floo station, "We're heading back home for supper," he explained, getting a cheer from Ron at the mention of supper. Moments later everyone had made their way through the floo, leaving Harry the last one again. Taking a deep breath, Harry concentrated on keeping his balance before calling out his destination and stepping into the green flames.

Seconds later, Harry shot through the Weasley's fireplace like a speeding bullet. Just as he was about to crash into their coffee table a pair of arms caught him around the waist, making him tumble to the ground. Putting the glasses that had fallen off his face back on, Harry saw that he had fallen on top of Ginny.

"I thought I'd try and catch you, knowing how terrible you are at the floo… it didn't work out how I'd planned" she blushed.

Harry quickly got back to his feet, and extended a hand to help Ginny back up, "It's the thought that counts," he smiled kindly, causing her to blush again… or maybe she was just flushed from falling to the floor. Harry wasn't sure which one it was.

"I have your books here for you, Harry," Hermione called from couch, "I'm very impressed with your OWL grades."

Taking his books from Hermione, Harry gave her the money he owed her, "Thanks, Hermione! I'm happy the work I put in paid off."

"Supper will be ready in an hour, dears!" Mrs. Weasley announced from the kitchen as she bustled around in her apron preparing the meal. "Fleur and Ginny, do you mind giving me hand with the salad and potato's?" she asked, causing the two girls to go and help the matron of the house.

Looking around and seeing that he wasn't needed, Harry gathered everything he brought from Diagon Alley and headed upstairs to put it all away. He didn't get a lot of sleep the night before, so a nap sounded good to him. As he sat down on his bed and closed his eyes, he thought that maybe… just maybe, his dreams would be filled with something else other than the death of the man with haunted grey eyes and a roguish grin.

 **AN**

 **I hope you all enjoyed the second instalment of this story. The chapter lengths won't usually be this long, I just couldn't find an appropriate/balanced place to cut it.**

 **In response to some of the review I received, first I would like to thank all of you for leaving your thoughts they are all appreciated. I know some of you had questions and concerns about the first chapter, but isn't that the point of the first chapter? It's the introduction into this story's take on JK's world, where certain events may or may not have happened like in Canon, it should definitely be leaving you with some questions.**

 **Now in regards to how some of you felt about Harry's forgiveness of Dumbledore was too** **quick, I'd like to explain my reasoning. Dumbledore's treatment of Harry throughout the years is different than it was in Canon. Yes, he didn't tell him about the prophecy and left him at the Dursley's, but those moments are important to Harry's development and I can't see those things going any other way. As I hinted in the first chapter, Dumbledore has done a lot for Harry over the years and you'll start to see what exactly I mean as the story moves along. Besides, just because Harry** _ **forgave**_ **Dumbledore doesn't mean their relationship will be as trusting as it was before. Relationships between people change over time, and that is one thing I am going to explore as Dumbledore and Harry's relationship will be an important part in this story. Dumbledore genuinely cares for Harry in this story, but he still has his own ideas and plans.**

 **I am happy some of you enjoyed my portrayal of Slughorn. I think Harry's perception of him was skewed by their first meeting in the 6th book and Harry never gave the poor man a chance. Besides, having Slughorn as your ally is only a good thing.**

 **I saw somebody mention the pic 'Half-Blood Romantic' and I would agree that a certain degree of inspiration has been derived from this fic. But assuming that it will be exactly like it is rather silly. I think 'Half-Blood Romantic' is an incredible Harry/Fleur story, but my story will be very different.**

 **Another thing, I know people aren't the biggest fans of reading Fleur's accent (and personally I'm not a fan of writing it), so once again I'll just recommend that you wait to see what happens.**


	3. Chapter 3

There seemed to be a certain peace in the morning that couldn't be matched by any other part of the day. The moment just before the sun peaked over the horizon welcoming the beginning of a new day. It is a magic unto itself watching light penetrate the darkness of night, and it made Harry wonder if there was some hope that the darkness in his life would someday be replaced with something bright, sunny and beautiful.

Sitting on an old rickety garden chair that had obviously been broken and transfigured more times than he could count, Harry enjoyed the last vestiges of silence before the birds welcomed in the dawn and the garden gnomes woke up to do whatever garden gnomes do.

As Harry welcomed the first tendrils of light hitting him in the face, he took a deep breath of the fresh country air and reflected back on what brought him outside at such an hour. It was the nightmares. That came as no surprise to Harry, as there rarely was a night that did not force him to relive the horrors of his life. If he did not know any better, Harry would have thought Voldemort in his mind again, manipulating his dreams. But it was fairly obvious that Voldemort wanted nothing to do with Harry's head ever since his failed possession in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry chuckled darkly at the thought that one of few bright spots in his life was that the bridge between their minds had temporarily closed.

Pushing those thoughts away, Harry smiled, basking in the knowledge that he would be returning to Hogwarts. He would be going home. In just a few hours he would be seeing his friends again, he would be learning again, he would be using _magic_ again.

Harry's trunk had already been packed and was currently sitting on the front stoop. There wasn't much for Harry to pack and it only took him half an hour the night before, but it felt good to be prepared ahead of time. Unlike Hermione, who had spent the last week adding, removing, and rearranging countless items within her trunk. It was a wonder that she could lift the thing with her thin arms.

The sun had risen to a reasonable height at this point, and Harry was forced to squint his eyes in the effort to not make his vision any worse than it already was. It was only minutes before the annual Weasley train fiasco began. The Burrow was a bustling household, threatening to burst at the seams on a regular day. The first day of September only escalated the situation exponentially, they could certainly due with one less body inside the house. That was the other reason he was currently sitting in their front lawn, staring into the rising sun.

Just as expected, Harry started to hear the first signs of life coming out of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen, no doubt cooking up a breakfast that could probably feed half the population of Hogwarts… or a handful of Ron's.

Closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat, Harry let the clanging, clanking, stomping, yelling, and complaining wash over him. In his mind, he pictured that the scenes inside the house at that moment resembled a muggle circus. In fact, it probably did.

It was a short while later that he heard the soft pattering of feet approach him, and the scent of lavender replaced the smell of wet grass that he had become accustomed to.

"You look like an old man, Arry," came the sweet sound of Fleur from behind him, a teasing lilt to her voice, "I never met 'im, but I imagine 'ee would look like you are right now."

"It wouldn't be the first time someone has compared me to an old man. Usually they just tell me that I have old eyes."

"Zhat eez because you do, Arry."

"I know that Fleur," Harry sighed, "I just wish that they would say some other part of me is old," Harry frowned. It was a comment that most people made after they had gotten over the startling emerald color he had inherited from his mother. He knew that most people didn't mean to offend him and were simply just making an honest observation, but it never felt right that people could so easily see the horrors of his life without actually knowing them. "Personally I think that I would make a fantastic old person," he added trying to lighten up the mood.

"Yes I zhink you would, you are already grumpy and broody enough."

"Hey! I was always told that girls liked the dark and mysterious types," he cried indignantly.

"Whoever told you zhat clearly knows nozzing about women. I could not zhink of any self-respecting witch who would enjoy spending time weez a sullen and sad boy."

"You certainly spend enough time with me," Harry joked.

"Arry… 'ave you seen zee ozzer choices of company 'ere. I 'ave to make ze best with what I can get," she quipped back not missing a beat.

Harry fought to bite back a laugh. He certainly could not imagine Fleur spending her hours of leisure with Molly, Ron, and Hermione. Or heaven forbid with Ginny... that would be a disaster in the making. They sat in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke up again, "I'm trying to imagine what you would look like as an old woman, but for the life of me I can't seem to do it."

"I would give up eef I were you. You will never see it," she stated plainly.

"Why?" Harry questioned. For a moment he wondered if there was some part of her Veela heritage that would prevent him from seeing her age.

"I 'ave seen your prescription Arry, I am certain zat you will be blind by zhen."

Harry spun around in his seat with a look of shock on his face and was met with smirk of a particularly cheeky Veela.

"Merlin, why do I endure this!" Harry cried, running a hand through his messy hair and down is face, "Any normal bloke would have stopped talking to you by now."

"Per'aps, but you are not like any normal wizard, Arry."

Harry paused, not really knowing what to say in response to that. Luckily, he was saved from answering by Mrs. Weasley who came bustling outside.

"Harry James Potter! What are you doing sitting outside so early in the morning, are you trying to catch a cold!" she waved a wooden spoon as she hurried past Fleur and took Harry by the shoulders. "You certainly look a little peaky, dear, I'll go grab you a little bit of pepper-up to go with your breakfast. Come along, come along, the food is ready and waiting!"

In what felt like a blink of an eye, Harry was pushed into a seat and found a plate overflowing with food placed in front of him. Not wanting to give Mrs. Weasley anymore cause to fuss over him, Harry started filling his mouth with food.

It was about five minutes later that Hermione hauled her trunk downstairs and sat at the table, book in hand. They ate together in relative silence before the youngest Weasley's came stomping down the stairs. Ron was huffing and puffing, likely from running between rooms looking for his things, and quickly grabbed and plate and dug in. Ginny on the other hand, filled her plate and ran upstairs, obviously not finished her packing.

They chatted amiably about who they were excited to talk to on the train, and what their schedules might look like this year. That was until Ron realized he forgot to pack his broomstick and sprinted out to the shed to find it. Just as he entered the house, Ginny stopped at the sight of him and cursed under her breath before running outside as well, accompanied by the shrieks of Molly complaining about her language.

"Eez eet always like zis?" Fleur's voice tickled Harry's ear. Turning to his left, he saw the blonde witch leaning on the counter with an uncomfortable look on her face. He had no idea when she entered the room.

"This is nothing Fleur," Harry laughed at her discomfort, "I spent my summer here in second year and there was five of them all going to school, and that's not even taking into account the fact that two of them were the twins."

Harry burst out laughing at the look of horror that crossed Fleur's face, "Merde… I do not even wish to imagine what zat would look like," she muttered.

"I can give you a pretty general idea," Harry smirked, "the twins almost killed Ginny last year when we were leaving Grimmauld Place."

"Killed?" she looked confused.

"The twins had finally turned seventeen and had gotten their apparition licence. They spent almost all of last summer apparating within the house and using magic for every single task they could, since the restriction on under-age magic no longer applied to them. Anyways, the morning we were leaving, they levitated their trunks and somehow managed to knock Ginny down about four flights of stairs."

Ginny came downstairs just as Harry finished his story, and she flushed a deep red.

"That eez unfortunate," Fleur attempted to say neutrally, but it was hard for her to keep a smirk off her face.

"Oh my, is it that time already!" Mrs. Weasley cried from the front door, "The ministry is here to escort us. Ronald!" she leaned over the bannister and yelled upstairs, "Hurry up, the Ministry is waiting for us! Ginny you as well, finish up your breakfast we don't want to keep them waiting."

Ginny froze just as she was about to unleash some sort of insult at Fleur. Clamping her mouth and shooting a glare at the still smirking French witch, she put her plate away and went to go grab he trunk.

Harry didn't particularly care for whatever rivalry existed between the two girls, he was more focused on why the Ministry had come to escort them to Kings Cross Station. Harry had never particularly cared for the Ministry, and his past experiences with Fudge and Umbridge only dirtied his view of the government. The only good experience he had ever had with the Ministry was the few times he had spoken with Madame Bones. She was a no nonsense witch, driven by honor and duty, and clearly cared about doing what was right for the safety of the people. She was the best the Ministry had to offer, and now she was dead, if the news he had overheard Mr. Weasley telling Mrs. Weasley was to be believed.

Apparently, she was the one to have recommended Scrimgeour as the new Minister, so Harry figured he couldn't be all that bad. The Ministry sending men to escort them could very well be them trying to garner favour with him, but he would have to wait and see before passing judgement.

"Oh don't you just look like some fine young men," Harry could hear Mrs. Weasley speaking to their escorts from outside, "What are your name dears? Are you the only ones who came?" she questioned with a hopeful tone in her voice.

Harry figured that Mrs. Weasley was hoping that Percy had come along with them. The currently estranged member of the Weasley family was still a sore subject in the Weasley household. Despite the revelations that the administration behind Fudge and Umbridge were about as corrupt as it could get, the ambitious red head had yet to return home and apologize.

Mrs. Weasley clearly did not get the answer she was hoping for, "Oh… well that is perfectly alright. Would you care for some breakfast, I'm certain we have something left over?" she asked in a much more subdued tone.

Making his way outside, Harry was met with the sight of two large black limousines and a group of four very serious looking wizards all dressed in black.

"Harry dear, I'd like you to meet Auror Fardale, Hammer, Proudfoot, and Conner. They'll be taking us to Platform 9 and ¾'s."

Harry approached the aurors, who must have been wearing disguises given the lack of their trademark red robes, and shook each of their hands. They all gave him a short nod and grunt in greeting.

"Sorry to turn down your offer of breakfast, Mrs. Weasley, but the Minister has us on a tight schedule and I think it would be best if we got underway. Traffic tends to pick up around this time, and magic can only help these vehicles so much," Harry guessed that it was Auror Proudfoot who spoke up. His response and cool monotone voice left no room to argue.

Judging by the slight twitches in the faces of the Aurors, it took much longer than they were hoping to get all of the Weasley's out of the house and packed into the cars with all of their belongings. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were in one car, with Auror Proudfoot driving. While Auror Conner, Fardale, Fleur, and Harry were in the other car with Hammer driving.

Auror Conner looked just about to blow a blood vessel when they suddenly stopped just as they were about to pull out of the gates to the Burrow, because Ginny had to run back into the house to grab her pet Pygmy Puff. Fardale snickered at his partner's expression, but a glare from Conner shut the laughing man up quickly.

The technology behind the Ministry cars was eerily similar to that of the Knight Bus. The cars were moving much faster than Harry thought possible, and they were weaving in and out of traffic faster than those car chase scenes Dudley would watch on the telly. The ride was not as vomit inducing as the Knight Bus, but it certainly was not a smooth ride by any means. Having Fleur constantly pressed up against him was a testament to that, and it was doing things to his mind that he would rather not think about in public.

To keep his mind out of the gutter, Harry decided it would be best to distract himself. "Auror Conner," Harry started, earning a gruff acknowledgment from the hard-faced man, "I was wondering how the Auror division and the DMLE has changed over the recent events that had come too light."

The man's dark eyes turned and inspected Harry for bit longer than he felt comfortable with, before speaking up, "Most of that information is confidential Mr. Potter."

Harry felt a bit silly that he thought they might answer his question. Obviously, they wouldn't tell him anything seeing as he wasn't a member of the DMLE. It fueled a familiar fire in the pit of his stomach that reminded him how useless and uninformed he was. How could he ever be strong enough to fulfill the prophecy if the Aurors didn't even consider him worthy of getting information.

Just as he was about to apologize, he was cut off by Fardale, "Oh come on Reg, don't be so hard on the kid. If there was any person we could trust with information it would be Harry over there," he waved his hands in Harry's direction. "You know, he is the Chosen One after all," he added with a teasing smirk and laughter flickering in his soft brown eyes.

"Well it certainly is better than being an unhinged glory seeking liar, looking to take over Fudge's seat as Minister," Harry joked earning a laugh out of Fardale. Harry was very quickly coming to like the easy going Auror.

"Man, I wish I could have been going to Hogwarts with everyone calling me the Chosen One. Just imagine the number of witches I could have gotten with," he said mostly to himself with a wistful sigh. "The closest I ever got to that kind of fame was when I sank the winning shot in the Dragon Pong tournament at Fudge's going away party!"

"Going away party?"

"Oh, ha, well… when Fudge finally stepped down, we-the Aurors decided that there was no better way to celebrate the day then throwing a drinking party. He wasn't the most liked man in our department," the Auror shrugged.

"He was a blithering fool," Conner muttered in agreement.

"I couldn't agree with you more. He's the only reason we are so far behind in the war right now. By sticking his head in the sand he gave the Death Eaters almost a year head start, not like Voldemort needed any more advantages," Harry finished spitefully.

Harry noticed that once again, Fleur did not jump at hearing the Dark Lords name. He was also pleasantly surprised that Auror Fardale barely jumped at the name, and Conner's only reaction was a slight twitch of the shoulder.

Conner turned and took another long look at Harry. Rather than the cold stare he received before, Conner was looking at Harry with something akin to approval.

"You wanted information, Potter?" he spoke up suddenly, at which Harry nodded. "Well, before she died, Madame Bones implemented a department wide rule stating that every person in the DMLE would refer to Voldemort by his name, at the risk of their jobs if they did not."

Harry was taken aback at the boldness of Amelia Bones. Harry all of a sudden was saddened that such a remarkable witch was killed before the war even heated up, and that he never got the chance to get to know her. He made a mental note to pass on his condolences to Susan.

"Scrimgeour has voiced his support in keeping the rule, and has increased the DMLE budget, Auror recruiting, and Auror training. Before this summer I would have told you I was ashamed to be a part of the Aurors and that I wasted my potential by joining such a useless organization. But now, we've at least gotten some fighting spirit back."

"Awe Reg, I knew deep down you were a softy. I can't wait to get back to the office and tell everyone that you actually believe in us," Fardale went to muss Conner's hair, but quickly retreated from the growl that left his throat.

The remainder of the car ride passed in silence as they sped into London and finally approached Kings Cross Station. On arrival, the Aurors quickly and efficiently unloaded the cars and led them all through the portal and to the Hogwarts express.

The children quickly said their goodbye's and started to make their way onto the train just as the crowds on the platform spotted Harry. The whispers from the people reached his ears just as he was about to step onto the train, but Harry was called back at the last second by the Aurors.

"You seem alright, Potter. Don't be an idiot, and don't die," Conner spoke quickly and sharply, before turning to leave.

Harry then exchanged farewells and handshakes with Aurors Proudfoot and Hammer.

"Do me a favor Harry," Fardale said as he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, "put that Chosen One name to good use and bed a few witches for me," he teased, causing Harry to blush. "I'll see ya around kid," he saluted before running off to go join his team.

Laughing at the friendly Auror who reminded him a bit of Sirius, Harry suddenly felt a cool hand touch his own. Turning around, he came face to face with Fleur.

"You shall write me Arry Potter, at least once a week," she ordered. "I weel excuse your poor writing 'abits from last year, as you 'ad a valid excuse. But this year you do not."

"I can't go promise you that Fleur, the year hasn't even started, who knows what type of trouble I'll find myself in this year," he smiled crookedly.

"I am sure zhat trouble will find you as always, Arry. Just remember zhat eef zhere is anything you want to talk about, you can always write me."

"I promise. I'll even attach a couple of letters for you to pass on to Gabrielle as well, I'm sure she'll like that," Harry added, causing a truly beautiful smile to cross Fleur's face.

"Stay safe, Arry," Fleur said as she cupped either side of his face and kissed both cheeks in farewell. She gave him one final wave goodbye, as she turned and left the platform with Mrs. Weasley.

The loud whistle indicating that the train was about to depart the station, broke Harry's gaze from the retreating form of Fleur Delacour. Harry reacted quick enough and jumped onto the train just as it started to move. Laughing to himself that he almost missed the Hogwarts Express for the second time in his life, Harry quickly made his way down the train looking for the compartment his friends were in.

As per usual, the front end of the train was filled with first year students wearing their identical un-sorted standard Hogwarts robes. A few of the young ones were staring at him, but most were either too nervous to notice him, too busy making friends, or were simply muggleborn and had no idea who he was.

The stares and open gapping only got worse as he made his way further down the train. Some of the looks he was getting from younger witches was rather alarming, and not innocent in the slightest. A shiver of discomfort travelled down his spine at that thought, and he picked up his pace hoping that he would reach his compartment sooner rather than later.

Not really paying attention to where he was going, Harry ran into a surprisingly solid body and quickly reached out to catch them before they fell over. Looking down, Harry was met with the flushed face of a sporty looking brunette wearing blue-trimmed robes. "Oh, wow… I'm so sorry Megan," Harry stumbled out.

"No, no it's totally fine Harry," she assured him as she pulled her brown hair behind her head and straightened out her robes, which Harry noticed were slightly tight in the chest area. "I can probably guess why you were practically sprinting down the hallway," she giggled.

Harry rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, "I wasn't going that fast was I?"

"Harry, I would have needed my broom to keep pace with you," she deadpanned. "Then again I can't blame you, I would probably run for my life as well if I had a horde of 13-year-old boys doing their best to try and get into my skirt."

"It is a little bit frightening," Harry admitted.

A cheeky smile crossed her face, "I promise not to tell the Death Eaters your weakness. Imagine the horror if the dark side found out that all it takes to defeat the Chosen One is a group of love struck school girls."

"Shhhhh!" Harry put his finger over her lips, "I like you Megan, but don't make me _obliviate_ you."

A hint of red crept up her pale cheeks but she played along, "Is your name Lockhart?"

Harry burst out laughing, but immediately wanted to know how she knew the fate of their previous Defense Against the Darks Arts professor. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, well my mother works part time in the Janus Thickey Ward and she told me what happened to the ponce when they admitted him there."

"I thought healers had some type of patient-healer confidentiality agreement?"

"The man's more of a permanent resident than a patient, and it's not like he'll ever know that most of the world now realizes he's a fraud."

"So what do I need to pay you for your silence?"

"That was a grave mistake Mr. Potter," she chided, wagging her finger at him. "Never give a girl this much power over you. I could make you do some devious things for information this valuable," she gave him her best evil smirk.

"Your evil smirk needs some work Megan."

"Oh shush you," she smacked his arm playfully before tapping her finger against her lip, pretending as if she was making a life changing decision. Harry couldn't help but think how cute she looked doing that. "Oh I know! I think the Quidditch Cup would be perfect!"

"You know I can't do that Megan. This is my return season, and I personally think the cup looks much better in McGonagall's office than it would in Flitwick's."

"Fine…" she pouted, "I have a better idea. Do you know when the first Hogsmeade weekend is?"

"Umm, it's usually some time near the end of the month. I'm not a prefect so I don't know for sure."

"That's fine, whatever. I want you to go with me to Hogsmeade that weekend and meet my sister."

"Gwenog?" Harry was pretty curious as to what Gwenog Jones wanted with him.

"Yeah! She's been dying to meet you over the last few years. She does her best to make it out to every single Hogwarts match when she isn't too busy with her own training and career. You should have seen how furious she was last year when she heard about Umbridge's life time ban. I thought she was personally going to go to the Ministry and murder Fudge, before breaking the laws of the universe by apparating directly into Hogwarts and then killing Umbridge as well. She was muttering about 'once in a lifetime talent' and how 'he's at a crucial point in his development' all through the holidays."

Harry blushed furiously over the praise. Gwenog Jones, an English legend, thought he had once in a lifetime talent! "That's, uh…um w-wow, I don't… just wow," Harry suddenly lost the ability to form a proper sentence.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, I think she just wants to make sure that you haven't forgotten how to fly your broom. I also think she wants to give you the tongue lashing of a lifetime over the fact that you didn't join the Youth Summer Leagues with me this year."

Harry cringed internally, he remembered how hard it was to send his refusal to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. There was nothing he would have loved more than to play Quidditch all summer long with the best youth players throughout England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland, but there was no way his life would have allowed that. He also remembered how terrible he felt when he got Megan's disappointed response that he wouldn't be there.

"You know why I couldn't go Megan, there's no way it would have worked with my relatives. How did it go for you?"

"It went fantastic!" she brightened immediately, "You know that I'm more of a right wing chaser, right?" Harry nodded in response, "Well they had me playing on my off wing for most of the summer, and it just felt so natural to me. The coaches were telling me how it's really rare for a chaser to be equally comfortable on both wings, and that scouts are always looking for players who can play anywhere across the front three."

"That's great Megan!" Harry said genuinely happy for the girl, "I always knew you had it in you, but I'm sorry to say that the Quidditch Cup will be staying with Gryffindor again this year."

"We will see about that _Potter_ ," she sneered doing her best Malfoy impression, causing Harry to laugh. Giggling, she waved goodbye one final time before promising to talk to him whenever she saw him in the castle.

Smiling to himself, Harry continued down the train with a slight bounce in his step. Today had been a good day thus far. Before he knew it, Harry finally spotted the dirty blonde hair and quirky necklace of Luna Lovegood and the not-so-pudgy face of Neville Longbottom.

Just as soon as he opened the door, Neville jumped to his feet and brought Harry into a brotherly hug, "Harry!"

Grabbing his friend by the shoulders, Harry looked him up and down, "Neville, you're looking great!" he said with a beaming smile.

"It's been a good summer," he smiled back confidently, very little of the timid boy who confronted them in the common room during first year remained.

Looking down at his friend's expensive robes, Harry noticed a brand new wand holster lining the inside pocket. "Can I take a look?" Harry indicated with his hand.

Neville looked confused for a second, before quickly figuring out what his friend was talking about. "Oh, yeah of course! It's brand new, gran took me there straight after I got off the train this summer," he explained as he whipped out a beautiful brand new wand, "13 inches, cherry, unicorn hair," he stated proudly, "Ollivander said it's an extremely rare wood to have outside of Asia."

"Nev, that's incredible. How does it feel?"

"It just feels right," he smiled contentedly. "I love my dad, and his wand always felt secure and powerful, but it never felt like me. I'm okay with that now. Before, well… I don't think I understood that I was my own person. I don't think my gran understood that either. But last year, because of you and the D.A., I finally felt like I could step out his shadows. I did that when I went to the Ministry with you Harry, and I don't regret it."

"Listen, Neville I-" Harry started but was cut off immediately.

"No, Harry, listen I need you to hear this. I was selfish when I went to the Ministry. Sure, I went there as your friend to help you and to cover your back, but I also went there for my own reasons. I went to the Ministry that night to prove to myself that what I started feeling last year wasn't fake. I knew there was a chance we would run into Bellatrix and the Lestranges that night, and I went anyways because I needed to confront my fears. I'm not afraid anymore Harry, not of them, not of what they did to my family, and not what they could do to me. The only thing that I'm afraid of is what would happen if they win. So I want you to know that I will always have your back, no matter what."

"I think you finally found out why the Sorting Hat put you into Gryffindor, Nev" Harry smiled, trying his best to put as much emotion he could into the statement. Neville's passionate speech really resonated with Harry. To see someone who just like him had been belittled for most of his childhood and thought so poorly about themselves, grow and turn into the living embodiment of Gryffindor was heartwarming.

"My gran said something similar when she picked me up from the Ministry," he chuckled. "I had never seen her so scared in my life, she apparated in wearing her night robes and that vulture hat and just squeezed the life out of me. She told me she had never been more proud of me," Neville finished with tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

"You certainly have less Wrackspurts than you did before Neville," Luna's dreamy tone came floating from behind the upside-down copy of the Quibbler she was reading. Maybe upside-down was the proper way to read the Quibbler and everyone else was just reading it the wrong way, Harry figured Luna knew best since she was the editor's daughter. He would have to ask her at some point. "Daddy wanted me to tell you how sad he was that Stubby Boardman passed away," Luna continued, this time looking at Harry. "He said that some of the Quibbler's best articles were about Stubby. I agree with daddy, but I'm sadder because Stubby seemed to make you smile more."

"Oi, Harry's here finally!" the moment passed as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way into the compartment. "I swear mate, I regret every moment of being a prefect, those meetings are bloody boring."

"Oh Ronald, they aren't nearly as bad as you are making them seem. Being a prefect is an honour, and the work we do is essential in the smooth running of the school," Hermione chastised.

"Ginny's a prefect?" Harry asked looking over at the redheaded girl who was playing with her Pygmy Puff.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as Ron's face turned a couple of shades darker and a certain grinding noise was coming from his clenched jaw.

"Ron just needs to relax. Malfoy got under his skin during the meeting, and he wasn't happy about finding Ginny spending time with Dean in his compartment."

"The blonde prick is just strutting around like he's on top of the world! We all know he supports You-Know-Who and can't wait for him to take over the world. You'd think with his dear old father in Azkaban he'd be less of an ass, but apparently it's the opposite. And I don't think Ginny sho-"

"What _Ginny_ does and wants to do is none of your business Ron. Dean is my boyfriend, and I am his girlfriend. Maybe if you found one yourself, you would understand that what we were doing is perfectly normal!" she yelled, causing Ron to cower slightly. "I've already hexed Zacharias Smith for pestering me about what happened at the Ministry, I certainly won't hesitate about hexing my annoyingly overprotective git of a brother."

"Smith was asking about the Ministry?" Harry asked, lowering the tension in the room.

"Harry," Hermione started, "the entire train and half of Britain is wondering what happened at the Ministry. The only reason we weren't hounded about it at the end of last term was because the Prophet didn't release details about that night until the school year ended. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore had a hand in delaying the news of our involvement in what happened."

"Yeah mate, if I wasn't there myself and I read about how six Hogwarts students broke into the Department of Mysteries, fought off Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who showed up at the end of it all after the Ministry denied his existence for a whole year, then I would be pretty curious about what happened too."

"Have any of you said anything?" Harry looked around, already knowing what the answer was.

"Of course not!" Neville almost shouted, "The Prophet said enough that everyone could figure out who the six Hogwarts students were, but we would never tell them anything! But…" Neville paused uncertainly.

"What Nev? Go on…" Harry prompted his friend.

"I think you should consider telling the D.A. members what happened. I can't speak for everyone here, but for me personally, I was totally out matched that night. I improved a lot last year and nothing could stop me from going and fighting again, but I can honestly say that I was lucky to escape with my life."

"I agree with Neville. I always felt that knowing as many spells as possible would give me an advantage, but seeing his Death Eaters in action gives me an understanding as to why everyone was so afraid of them at the World Cup," Hermione spoke up, unconsciously rubbing the spot where Dolohov's purple flame spell hit her.

Luna hummed in agreement, as did Ron and Ginny.

"I think the D.A. deserves to know first-hand from us just how dangerous they are. They already know all the dangers you've faced Harry; Hermione saw to that when we started the club. But I think it would mean a lot to them, if they heard a firsthand account that wasn't from the Chosen One," he smirked at Harry. "I think them knowing what we faced will spark a fire underneath them, and get them to take this war seriously. Hearing how we fought, and against all odds managed to survive can give them just a little bit of hope to hold on to."

"I think it's a good idea, and you'll get your chance to tell them when I announce that I can't continue the D.A." Harry stated plainly.

"What!?" Neville looked shocked, and Luna seemed to slump in her seat.

"I can't continue running the D.A. this year. I told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny over the summer after they told me how everyone was asking if it would continue this year. I know people loved it, I know it created a lot of friendships, and I know it symbolizes us as a unified front, but I just don't have the time. There's just too much on my plate, and I wouldn't want to start it up again this year and not be completely dedicated to it."

"Th-that's alright, Harry. People will definitely be disappointed that it won't be coming back, but I think they'll understand once you tell them. You are going to tell them right?" Neville questioned.

"Of course! I was thinking we would spread the news and use the old coins to meet in the Room of Requirement before classes start. Maybe have one final meeting on top of it all."

"I think that's a good idea, Harry. We were all like one big family last year," Luna smiled.

There was a knock on the compartment door causing everyone to whip around. On the other side of the glass, there looked to be almost the entire Hogwarts population of 3rd and 4th year girls, led by one particularly bold Gryffindor with a pretty face and curly rich dark hair.

Ron and Neville both burst out laughing, Luna was giggling uncontrollably, Ginny was trying to kill them with her gaze, and Hermione being polite slid the door open to enquire as to what they would like. Being Hermione, she probably thought they looking for a prefect. They weren't.

"Hi, I'm Romilda Vane," she pushed her way confidently into the compartment as the rest of her girly entourage giggled behind her. "I just wanted to introduce myself, and thank you Harry for being so _brave_ at the Ministry," she batted her long, curled eyelashes at him, "I mean you all were brave, I guess, but it's simply _amazing_ that you managed to face him and beat him again Harry. You are the Chosen One," she whispered lovingly, "and I know you can do it," she quickly turned and left before anybody could get a word in. As the flock of girls made their way back to their compartments, Romilda looked over her shoulder, winked, and gave Harry a small wave with her fingers.

Not knowing if what just happened was real, or if he imagined the entire situation in a moment of madness, Harry glanced around the compartment to gauge the reactions of his friends, "Did that just happen…" he openly gaped.

"She certainly does not lack in self-confidence," Hermione supplied.

"Looking like that, I don't see why she would," Ron replied without thinking.

"Ronald! She is a fourth year!" Hermione snapped.

"What! I-uh, I didn't mean it like that Hermione. For Godric's sake of course she's too young… not to mention she has the hot's for Harry," he pointed with his thumb, "I was just making an honest observation. Right Neville?" Ron looked for support.

"No comment Ron, you dug this hole yourself," Neville answered while picking up a Herbology book focused on plants grown in the Middle East, officially cutting himself off from wherever this conversation was going.

Feeling sorry for his friend, Harry decided to take control of the conversation, "Those must have been the same girls that I saw when I first got onto the train. I definitely recognized a few of them."

"Is that what held you up when you got onto the train? We brought your trunk with us when we saw you go talk to the Aurors and we waited for you, but you didn't show up and we had to go to the Prefects meeting," Hermione explained.

"Those girls didn't really hold me up, it was mostly me thanking the Aurors and saying goodbye to Fleur," Hermione and Ginny both frowned at that, "and I quite literally ran into Megan as well."

"Megan?" Ginny asked looking rather interested.

"Megan Jones, the Ravenclaw chaser, you should know her," Harry supplied.

"I think I read about her sister Gwenog once," Hermione chimed in.

"Everyone knows who Gwenog Jones is, Hermione, she's Quidditch legend!" Ron replied.

"Anyways," Ginny continued, "what did she want?"

"Nothing much really," Harry shrugged, "talked about our summers, she told me about her time in the youth leagues, and we're going to Hogsmeade during the first visit."

The compartment went silent at his declaration, excluding Luna who was singly softly to herself. Harry was also pretty sure he could hear Neville laughing silently to himself behind his book, or at least the violent shaking of his shoulders suggested as much.

"You're going on a date with Megan Jones?" Hermione asked looking a bit unsure.

"A date!?" Harry spluttered, "No, no, she just asked if I wanted to go to Hogsmeade during the first weekend."

"Umm, I don't know what planet you're from mate, but that sure as hell sounds like a date to me," Ron commented.

"No way, she just wanted me to go with her to meet her sister Gwenog. That's not a date," he said sounding less sure than he was a minute ago, "She doesn't think it's a date right?"

"Did she look happy after you said yes?" Hermione asked.

"No, uh-yes, maybe, I don't know I guess she did, but she always looks happy. At least I think so."

"It sounds like it is one, Harry. You should probably ask her though; it would be a good thing to know before going. We don't want to have another Cho incident," Hermione reminded Harry of what happened the last time he took a girl out without thinking through the entire situation.

Another knock on the door saved Harry from delving any deeper into an already awkward topic. Sliding it open revealed the always energetic face of Colin Creevey, "Hiya Harry! I hope you had a good summer, I've got a letter for ya from Professor Slughorn. He told me it was important for me to give it to you right away."

"Thanks Colin, hope you had a good summer too," he replied automatically, quickly snatching the letter out of the boy's hands.

 _Harry,_

 _It would be an absolute honor if you could join me for a spot of lunch in the Conductor's Compartment. I hope you have been well since I last saw you in the summer. I would once again like to thank you from the bottom my heart for the wise words of wisdom you had for this old man. I forgot how much I loved teaching, and now that I'm back I simply can't wait for the year to begin. This invitation is a bit more personalized than the others I have handed out, but I do tend to enjoy getting to know some of the more stand-out students before the school year starts._

 _Eagerly awaiting your arrival,_

 _Professor Horace Slughorn_

"What is that?" Hermione asked impatiently as Harry re-read the invitation a second time.

"It's an invitation from Professor Slughorn for me to join him for lunch," Harry said with a smile. He thought it would be nice to get to know the old man a little better, even if there would be other students there. "I guess I should be off," Harry said as he left the compartment and made his way down towards the front of the train.

"Potter!" a voice called his attention as he was nearing his destination. "In here golden boy!" came the same voice that could only belong to one Daphne Greengrass.

"It's Chosen-One now, Daph, didn't you know?" mocked a petit brunette.

"Daphne, Tracey," Harry greeted the two girls in turn. "I've told you that you can call me Harry before, yet you seem to forget that each time we talk. I'm almost starting to think that you're mocking me," he looked into the sapphire eyes of the black haired beauty, looking as elegant as always. She was the epitome of pure-blood class.

A soft chuckle from the corner of the compartment brought his attention to the dark skinned Casanova himself, Blaise Zabini, "You know, _Harry,_ " he drawled out the name, "I didn't think you to be so thick. Almost everything Daphne says or does is mocking someone."

"He's right," Tracey piped up, "it just so happens that it's you she's mocking most of the time. You seem to be her favorite target," Tracey laughed as small flecks of red came upon her best friend's cheek's as she sent an icy glare back.

"Anyways, Potter, we heard some of your followers whispering to each other about your not-so-secret club and how much they are dying for it to start up again. We were wondering if we could hear directly from the source if your little cult is going to continue this year."

"I'm sure you will find out eventually, since you normally do, so I see no harm in telling you now. Our _club_ , the D.A. will not be running again this year."

"Oh no," she gasped, "so many heartbroken Gryffs, Puffs, and Claws, whatever will we do."

"I don't know Daph, it sounds like the perfect opportunity for Blaise to spread his seed a little more. You know, the dark and edgy Slytherin boy providing comfort to the witches who all lost their chances for one-on-one tutoring with the great and powerful Harry Potter."

"I wouldn't mind it," Blaise smirked, "any suggestions Potter?"

"I'll try to get a good word in with Lavender for you."

"Not bad," Blaise answered looking pleasantly surprised, "she would have been up near the top of my least anyways, a pure-blood too."

"Oh, don't act as if you haven't slept with a mud-muggle-born or half-blood before Blaise," Daphne cut in.

"I never said I haven't, I was just mentioning how nice it would be to sleep with a girl who was near my class."

"I've got about the entire 3rd, 4th, and 5th year population of Hogwarts girls as well if you want Blaise?"

"Your concern is appreciated, Harry, but not necessary. I think my experience with the fairer sex is far greater than yours. Fighting Dark Lords is you forte, getting girls to drop their knickers is mine."

"Normally I would insult Blaise over being so disgustingly smug, but in this case he is correct Potter. One would only have to look at a particularly weepy Ravenclaw girl to know how much of a romantic you are."

Harry cringed at how far the story of his disastrous date with Cho Chang had spread. At this point it must be considered a part of Hogwarts legend, right next to him killing a teacher, flying to school in a car, slaying a Basilisk, and so much more. Writing a book about all of them would be a good way to spend his retirement… if he lived that long.

"Honestly Potter, I will never understand how you thought that going on a date with her was in any way, shape, or form a good idea."

"Alright, alright, enough Daphne, I get it. I suck at romance. Just please stop talking about Cho Chang, this is the second time today that she has been brought up."

"Sounds like people just don't want you to make the same mistake twice," Tracey spoke up.

"Trust me, I think I learnt my lesson. Do you guys know where Shafiq and Pucey are? I need to thank them for the Herbology and Astronomy OWL tips, I would have failed the courses without them."

"They're in the main dining cabin. Most of the Slytherin upper years have commandeered it and are all lounging around talking about Merlin knows what. I was about to go join them to keep up appearances and see if I could learn something interesting, but I got this thing instead," Blaise pulled out a golden trimmed card that looked identical to the one Harry received from Colin.

"Slughorn sent you one too?" Harry asked.

"Yes, apparently I am an interesting and talented enough person to garner the interest of the esteemed potions master," Blaise drawled.

"That's good, you can come with me and tell Slughorn all about your talent for getting girls to drop their knickers." Harry's comment got a snort out of Tracey and a small giggle from Daphne, but she covered it up quick enough that most people would have missed it.

"Look at you, showing a little bit of wit for once in your life. I think spending time with us has rubbed off on you a little bit."

"Good, now you can rub off on me some more as we make our way to Slughorn's cabin," Harry announced as he grabbed Blaise by the arm and hauled him out of the cabin to the sound of the two Slytherin girls laughing.

It was only a short walk to the Conductor's Compartment, with Blaise complaining the entire time about ruining his hard earned image by being seen with 'the walking contraceptive potion' Harry Potter.

Upon entering the Conductor's Compartment, Harry was met with the sight of something he would expect to see at a high society pure-blood party or at a Ministry gala. Along the walls of the compartment looked to be magically spun gold, looping around and making patterns that any acromantula would be envious of. The table that took up the center of the room extended from one end of the compartment to the other, and was filled with more food and drink than Harry could count. Harry knew that Slughorn was a lover of the finer things in life, but the man certainly put that on display here.

Blaise immediately looked at home in this setting, and his pure-blood breeding took control. He schooled his features, straightened his posture, and gracefully strode over to an empty seat between what looked like Cormac McLaggen and Marcus Belby.

Harry on the other hand, scooted his way around the table to the empty seat beside Slughorn, who was wildly gesticulating for him to sit there. "Ah, Harry my boy! It is so good to see, I'm very happy you decided to accept my invitation. You as well, Mr. Zabini, I have been doing business with your mother for years and it is nice to put a face to the boy she speaks so highly of."

"Now that we are all here," Slughorn announced, "I would like to formerly introduce myself. My name is Professor Horace Eugene Flaccus Slughorn, I was the Head of Slytherin house up until my semi-retirement in 1981. After years of helping old friends and working independently as a potions master on various projects, I have decided to return to my old post and continue teaching at Hogwarts as the Potions Professor. I like to get a feel for the upcoming year by meeting with some of the schools more outstanding pupils, as such I have invited you all here for lunch. Today is more of a casual event for us to get to know each other, however throughout the year I like to hold more formal get-together's with some of my old friends and colleagues as well."

That is exactly how the afternoon went by, with Slughorn and the upper year students he invited discussing their families, hobbies, school, and future aspirations. If Harry was being entirely honest, it wasn't the ideal way he would have liked to spend his afternoon, but it wasn't terrible either. The food and drink was delicious, Slughorn had some interesting and quirky stories that seamlessly transitioned between his conversations with each student, and it was a great opportunity for Harry to gather information on some of the more well-known students in the school.

The sun had already started to go down by the time Slughorn had given them all a final speech. The man had clearly drunk a little bit too much, but he simply laughed it off saying it was all in good fun. Harry had to agree as he himself had overindulged slightly, judging by the slight pounding in his head and the sway in his step.

Just as the compartment started to clear out, Slughorn called Harry to stay behind.

"Come here my boy, I have something to pass on to you," Slughorn waved him over as he started rummaging through a small cupboard. After a few seconds he pulled out a pair of small vials, each filled with a clear blue liquid, "One of my more recent genius inventions if I say so myself, it is a variant on the commonly known Hangover Potion. It immediately sobers the drinker, but a side-effect I have yet to work around is that it gradually slows the drinker's reflexes until they fall asleep. Therefor I recommend you drink it now my boy, have yourself a delicious meal at the Opening Feast, and get ready for the best sleep in your entire life. It is the perfect potion to celebrate a day like today."

"Thank you Professor, it is much appreciated," Harry smiled at the kind gesture and quickly downed the potion.

"There is one more thing I would like to ask you," Slughorn started after swallowing his own dose, "that is if you don't mind doing me a favour."

"Of course not, sir."

"Such a well-mannered boy, your mother would be proud of you," he smiled, "I don't know if you noticed, but there was one empty seat at our gathering today."

Harry had in fact noticed, but he felt like it wasn't his business to bring it up at the time, "I did," he answered simply.

"I did not lie when I said everyone here who was invited came, but that seat was for one individual I purposefully did not invite. It was by no means done with malicious intent, in fact I refrained from inviting her out of the purest of intentions. That seat, was meant for Miss Susan Bones," he explained.

Harry suddenly understood.

"The poor girl, a tragic story so similar to your own," he said with a pained look in his eye. "Essentially orphaned before her second birthday, leaving her to be taken care of by her aunt. I remember Amelia very well; she was a member of my club during my original tenure at Hogwarts. She wasn't the best brewer but by Merlin's Beard did she work hard, managed to get her NEWT and went straight into the Auror Academy. My goodness was she ever a talented witch, I knew she was destined for great things the moment I saw her and that's why I introduced her to the head of the DMLE during one of my parties. It makes me wish she was a Slytherin, but somehow I just don't think that was who she was," Slughorn trailed off as he walked over to what looked to be his trunk and unlocked it.

It took him a few seconds to find what he was looking for, but he eventually pulled out another one of his golden trimmed cards. "Amelia was the bravest of us all, she was fierce, she was loyal; and if what I heard was true, she stood tall until the end. The world is a darker place without her, and I fear we may falter without her leadership. Do me a favour, my boy, and pass this on to Susan. Let her know that she is not alone, and that there are others who mourn with her over the passing of her dear Aunt," he finished speaking with tears dripping from his eyes.

"Professor," Harry started, looking at his Professor who had taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing at his eyes, "it won't be like this forever. I promise you, their sacrifices will not be in vain. One day, these senseless killings and ripping apart of families will end and we'll all raise a toast to their memory. I won't stop until that dream is a reality."

"I know you won't Harry," the man smiled sadly, "and please… in private, call me Horace."

With that, Harry left the compartment to see a lot of the students opening their trunks and getting ready to change into their Hogwarts robes. They would be approaching Hogsmeade Station in just over an hour.

Before heading back to get changed himself, the envelope Slughorn passed over weighed heavily in his pocket. He thought it would be best if he searched out Susan now, rather than in the crowds on the way to the castle.

It only took questioning a few Hufflepuffs and directions from her best friend Hannah Abbott, for Harry to find the compartment Susan was occupying. It was the only compartment in the entire train with all of the blinds pulled down, and the only compartment that was occupied by a single person.

Knocking on the door, Harry did not receive a response. Knocking again slightly louder, he still was given no indication that a person was inside. Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, Harry slid open the door and entered the very dark compartment. The air inside the small space felt heavier than it did throughout the rest of the train. In fact, the magic buzzing in the area gave off a distinct feeling of depression. Harry was quite familiar with the feeling, as this is what the smallest bedroom in Number 4 Privet Drive felt like when he first arrived at the beginning of the summer.

"Susan…" Harry whispered, "Susan…" he spoke again slightly louder.

Harry heard small murmur come from the corner of the compartment that sounded like a muffled version of 'go away.' Not being one who generally listens to others, Harry ignored this request and moved towards what looked like a small pile of clothes sitting on the floor near the window. The only indication that this was in fact a human and not a pile of dirty laundry, was a strand of auburn hair poking out from underneath the dark robes.

"Hi Susan, it's Harry," he started lamely. Harry was never the best at dealing with crying and upset girls, but he was satisfied with the fact that at least he was making an effort.

"Harry…?" her meek voice could barely be heard above the constant chugging of the train.

"Hey Su," Harry had no idea why he randomly came up with a pet name for her, but he decided to just go with it, "I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing," Harry instantly regretted saying that as it triggered another round of sobs from the distraught girl.

Cursing himself and his ineptitude with the opposite sex, Harry slowly lowered himself onto the floor beside Susan. Harry could imagine just how hard Tracey and Daphne would be laughing at the sight of him besides another girl with a never ending supply of tears.

Almost as if sensing that he moved beside her, Susan launched herself at Harry and started crying into the crook of his neck. Realizing that he was currently trapped, Harry wrapped one of his arms around her back and drew gentle patterns on her side, while the other continuously combed through her hair.

They continued to sit in the position for what felt like forever until Susan's tears had slowed to a stop. "I know how you feel Susan, I really do. It hurts, and burns, and it feels like you'll never be whole again. You feel like you'll never be the same again, and everybody tells you that eventually you will be alright… but you know that you never will. I know Susan," he whispered into her ear.

Pulling back and looking at Harry through teary blue eyes, she asked the question that he knew was coming, "How do you deal with it Harry? How have you dealt with this almost every day of your life? I feel so weak, so fragile and it only makes it worse, because I know Auntie would stand firm if she was in my position."

"I can't speak for your Aunt, Susan, but I know that I have never really dealt with it. I never really got over my parents. You would think that since I don't remember them, it would be easier to forget them. But that's not true at all. Every day I think about them and what my life would have been like if they didn't die that night, every day I think about what it would be like to have a real family. I'm sure you feel the same about your own parents…"

Susan nodded against his chest.

"It was only after my name came out of the Goblet of Fire that I realized I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself. Because no matter how hard I wished it, there was no way I could bring my parents back to life. So instead, I focused on doing everything I could to make them proud and to make sure their sacrifice was not in vain."

Harry gulped back the lump in his throat that developed whenever he spoke about his parents. Taking a deep breath, Harry prepared to open himself up in a way that he had never done before, but if there was anybody who could understand him it would be Susan.

"I found somebody who gave my life a new purpose. The way I found them is an utterly ridiculous story in of itself, but nevertheless they entered my life. This new presence, brightened my life, gave me hope, provided unconditional love, and reminded me that no matter how many times I failed they would still love me. It was like having a father, at least that's what I imagine a father would be like. In a way I guess he was my father, he was my godfather, or dogfather if you asked him, and he was perfect.

Perfect in the ways that mattered anyways, because he was definitely a flawed man. He made mistakes, some concerning me, some concerning others, but he lived, loved, and laughed passionately. You will never find a man who loved pranks more than him, not even the Weasley twins, and you will never find a man more damaged than him. He would have killed for me… actually he tried to on more than one occasion. He had drinking problems, he smoked, he suffered psychological trauma from both his childhood and then from Azkaban," Susan stiffened at these words, but Harry continued, "Sometimes I wondered if he wished that he would have died that night. He lost his other half the same night my father died, and he lost the sister he never had in my mother. One best friend betrayed him and the other abandoned him, their relationship was always strained after once told me that the night he got dragged into Azkaban, half the witches in Britain cried. I laughed, because I'm fairly certain he was telling the truth. Despite all of this, whenever I think of Sirius Black, all I can think of is the man who wanted nothing more in life than to give his godson the world, and all I did was lead him to his death."

Harry wasn't sure at what point the tears started leaving his eyes, but they were freely flowing down his face.

"Auntie…told me that he died a hero, I never knew what she meant until now," Susan whispered as she wiped the fresh tears off of Harry's face with her thumb.

"I still don't know if I did him a favour that night, and if he went out there knowing full well that he would never be coming back," Harry choked out.

"Auntie had been nervous ever since V-v-vo-ldemort came back out into the open," she spoke softly, "she knew that he held a special bit of hatred towards the Bones family, and her in particular. The day after that incident in the Ministry, she sent me to live with Hannah full time, she said it wasn't safe at home anymore," Susan took a shaky breath before continuing with her story, "Everyone at the Ministry wanted her to run for Minister, but I think she knew that her time was limited. When he killed most of my family singlehandedly, Auntie managed to fight him off before killing one of his original Death Eaters, Marcus Nott.

Auntie nominated Rufus to be Minister because she thought he would be good for the war, but also because she wanted to buy herself a little more time. She…she floo called me right before it happened. She knew it was coming, they had been following her around work, and had been staking out the manor. She told me everything would be alright," tears were falling from Susan's eyes as she must have been reliving her last moments with her aunt in her mind, "she told me that she loved me, and that the House of Bones would be safe in my hands. The floo started to flicker out as the attack started… I didn't know what to say, I-I-I couldn't speak, I c-couldn't find the right w-w-words. She told me I looked pretty and blew me a kiss like she would every night before I went to bed as a child, and then… the connection was cut," she finished with a look of absolute heartbreak in her eyes. A look that tore at Harry's insides, since he woke up almost every morning from his nightmares with the same look in his eyes.

"I guess we're just a couple of broken people," Harry chuckled darkly.

Before he knew it, Susan's lips were suddenly on his. He froze for a second, but quickly reciprocated. He knew what they were doing was wrong, they were broken, they were hurting, and that wasn't healthy for any sort of relationship. But in that moment, as Susan's plump lips that tasted of strawberries and salt were working against his, he couldn't care less. It felt good, damn good. He loved her taste, he loved her passion, and he loved the fact that he wasn't the only damaged sole in this world.

They sat together on the floor of that empty, dark compartment, channelling all of their pent up emotions into something they both could enjoy. And enjoy it they did. Harry felt like he was on top of the world as Susan moaned softly from inside her mouth. Their tongues were currently in the middle of some complicated dance, and Harry had never been more grateful that he could speak the language of the serpents.

Susan gripped the back of Harry's head as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let go, her other hand running down his abdomen and towards a particular bulge in his pants. Harry bucked when her fingers danced over his arousal, and he quickly subverted his attention to marking her neck with his teeth.

She moaned loudly as one of Harry's hand gripped her butt, while the other slid up underneath her bra and was cupping her breast. They were treading into dangerous territory at this point, but neither Harry nor Susan looked as if they were slowing down.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for them, their moment of passion was interrupted by the magical voice of the conductor announcing that the train was slowing and that they would be approaching Hogsmeade station in under ten minutes.

Looking at each other through lust filled vision and panting, the two teenagers flushed at their semi state of undress. Quickly picking himself up from the ground and wanting to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, Harry pulled out the main reason he came looking for Susan in the first place, "Professor Slughorn, uh, passes on his condolences," Harry dumbly explained as passed the golden card into Susan's small pale hand, and closed her fist around, "I recommend reading it privately, he's a better man than people give him credit for," and with that Harry exited her cabin with a wildly beating heart.

Try as he might, the taunting voices of Tracey and Daphne would not leave him alone. Some fools never learn, and Harry Potter was definitely one of those fools. It looked like he was doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again. He just prayed the Slytherins never found out about what happened in that compartment.

Speaking of Slytherins, as Harry was making his way back to his compartment, he spotted a certain ferret looking a little suspicious as he left the men's bathroom holding a silk bag.

Going off his gut instinct and knowing what sort of materials were usually held within silk bags, Harry slowly followed the blonde Slytherin.

Harry was happy with his decision, because after following the boy for just a few seconds, he knew something was up. Over his five years at Hogwarts, Harry had experienced his fair share of interactions with the Malfoy heir and had gotten a good read on his various moods and normal behaviour. Malfoy was trying too hard to appear normal, it felt forced almost as if he was giving a demonstration on how a non-guilty person would walk down a hallway. Everything about his current behaviour was screaming that it was not Malfoy-esque.

As he was nearing his normal compartment, Harry made the split second decision to get to the bottom of Malfoy's odd behaviour. Taking a quick look to make sure nobody was looking at him in the hallway, Harry slipped on his invisibility cloak and continued tailing his target.

By the time they reached the dining car, Harry was a fair few steps behind Malfoy, for whatever reason, even though he felt as if he had been walking fast enough to keep up. As Malfoy slid open the door, Harry wasn't sure if he would make it before the door closed. His whole operation could have ended before it even began. Pushing himself to walk even faster, Harry just managed to slide in before the door closed on him.

Looking around, he noticed that Blaise was right. The entire dining car was taken over by upper class Slytherins, all spread out and lounging around in the more spacious and comfortable seats that were meant strictly for those who were eating. Obviously none of the other prefects felt like confronting a horde of Slytherins, so they simply left them to their own devices.

Sneaking carefully further into the compartment, Harry spotted Malfoy sitting in a four-person booth with Nott and Parkinson. The booth was meant for four, but it could probably seat five, especially since Pansy thought that Malfoy's lap was more comfortable than the cushioning charms on the bench.

Wanting to get closer in and to hear what they were saying, Harry spotted an empty luggage compartment bin just above where they were sitting.

Carefully moving forward, Harry hoped that all of his Quidditch upper body strength would come in handy, as he grabbed a hold of the metal bars and pulled with all his strength upwards. His muscles strained with exertion, as pulling himself up took longer than he had expected.

As if it couldn't get any more difficult for Harry, fate decided to make it even more of a challenge. Just as he was swinging his legs over top of the sides of the compartment, the train lurched, signalling their final slow approach into Hogsmeade Station. The violent lurch of the train, sent Harry's knee straight into the metal lining of a nearby trunk, forcing Harry to swallow back a yelp of pain.

Cursing whatever gods were out there, Harry ignored his throbbing knee and focused in on their conversation.

"Dragon," Pansy simpered from Draco's lap, Harry almost vomited at her nickname, "do you think we can go to our usual spot tonight?" Harry figured she was trying to be seductive.

"I can't," Draco answered shortly, "there's something I need to check on tonight, we can still do something tonight but we'll have to wait for tomorrow to go to the spot."

"Do you promise?" Pansy half whined, half begged.

"Yes, Pansy, whatever you want. But it has to be tomorrow," he answered before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"This year is going to suck," Nott spoke up moodily.

"Oh, and why would that be Theodore?" Malfoy inquired.

"Snape isn't teaching us Potions anymore for one, so my mark will surely go down without his help, and Potter is going to be extra insufferable this year. He was bad enough before, but now he's got half the school and the Ministry all trying to suck on his golden penis."

"Ewe, Theodore!" Pansy screeched, "I don't want to think about whatever Potter has going on down there."

In that second, Harry experienced a moment of relief that he never thought would have been necessary. But knowing that Pansy Parkinson, the human pug herself, wanted nothing to do with him sexually brought a smile to his face.

"Do you think that Chosen One crap has any weight to it?" Nott inquired towards Malfoy, "Father won't tell me anything, all he says is that the Ministry has been very tight lipped over what happened at the Ministry."

"My _sources_ haven't told me much either," Draco admitted, "but I honestly don't think Potter is anything special," he proclaimed boldly.

"What's in the bag, Dragon," Pansy purred, catching Draco of guard. Draco stiffened slightly at the question and quickly moved to put it inside his trunk.

"Potions, Pansy, just potions that my mother wanted to make sure I had excess of. You know how dirty mudbloods can be, I think she was just worried I might catch some sort of disease from one of them now that they feel like they can run loose."

A fantastic lie by Draco, especially with the use of his favorite word, but a lie none the less. Harry's curiosity over the bag only increased with Draco's evasion of the question.

Before any more questions could be asked, they had already pulled into the station.

"Draco, hurry up, I don't want to have to wait in line with all the blood traitors for a carriage," Pansy complained from the open compartment door as they were the last ones to leave.

"Go ahead, Pansy, Nott, save me a seat on one of the carriages, I just need to finish locking my stuff up and I'll join you right away."

Malfoy sent a locking charm on the compartment door the moment they left, and immediately Harry knew he was in trouble.

Harry reached for his wand, but Malfoy already had his out before Harry could get to his. What looked like a petrification hex was sent at Harry, and he just barely managed to roll out of the way in time. The problem was that he rolled right off the luggage compartment and landed hard on the table below.

His invisibility cloak had partially come off at this point, "You know Potter, children are usually taught that it's rude to eavesdrop on private conversations," Malfoy drawled as he sent another hex at Harry who once again had to resort to rolling out of the way. "But then again, both your parents are dead, so I guess you had nobody to teach you," he snapped another hex just as Harry was about to send his own.

Trying to de-tangle himself from his cloak and wondering what the hell was going on, Harry quickly crawled behind a table looking to gain cover. He slowly crept around the different benches and tables, looking at Malfoy's feet from underneath, trying to pick out his best angle of attack.

"I always knew you were a coward scar-head," Malfoy taunted, "are you a wizard or not? Or did you just forget how to use your wand, I hear that happens to some people after spending too much time with mudbloods and bloodtraitors."

Swallowing back his rage, Harry waited patiently for Malfoy to stalk further forward inside the compartment. It was a game of cat and mouse, and Harry was waiting for the perfect time to strike. The moment came just as Malfoy turned a corner around one of the larger tables in the room and his back was facing Harry.

Popping up with his wand in hand Harry went to one of the quickest and most effective spells in his arsenal, " _Expelliarmus_!" Harry cried.

He was halfway through his incantation and wand movement when Malfoy spun around and cried out, " _Petrificus Totalus_!"

By some freak of nature, Malfoy somehow managed to finish his incantation and wand movement before Harry did. Harry was shocked as the sliver spell struck him, instantly snapping him into place like a statue.

Harry's mind was a whirl with questions, so much so that he didn't even notice that he toppled onto his back and that Malfoy was sneering over top of him.

"Pathetic, Potter!" he spat, and in that moment Harry couldn't agree more.

How had he been beaten so handily by Malfoy, _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people. He was outperformed by a smarmy little ferret, a boy he had never lost to in his life up until this moment.

The pain of losing to Malfoy and the ensuing embarrassment was worse than the boot that stomped on his face and crushed his nose.

However, it was that moment of pain that brought him a moment of clarity. In that second, everything seemed to make sense and peace came over top of him.

"…-ather will be glad I paid you back for what you did to our family. Enjoy the return trip Potter, I'll send some people to collect you from there."

Harry wanted to laugh hysterically, he probably would have in that moment if he wasn't still under the effects of the petrification hex. There was nothing more that Harry wanted to do, then to ruin Malfoy's moment of glory. Reveal to him the means of his success. But alas he could not, so Harry sat contentedly knowing that all was right in the world, and that Malfoy was just as pathetically weak ever.

As the red light leaving Malfoy's wand flashed in his face, the only thought running through Harry's mind was, _that potion better give me the best damn sleep I have ever had_.

* * *

In what could easily have been an eternity later, light started to filter into Harry's vision. Everything was white, but slowly he was able to see the beginnings of a face take shape within the light.

"…-lin, your nose is worse than that rugby player I dated a few years back…"

A familiar voice filtered into his consciousness.

"Are you an angel?" Harry groggily asked. After his run in with Malfoy it was very likely he somehow ended up dead.

"Smooth Harry, if I didn't know you any better I'd think you were hitting on me. But no, I'm not an angel. Though funnily enough, I've been called the devil more times than I can count."

"Tonks?" Harry finally managed to put a name to the angelic face that was smiling down at him.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner! Mr. Harry James Potter, please allow me to escort you off this train and take you to your prize," and with that, Harry was hefted onto his feet and dragged onto the Hogsmeade platform.

"Where's my prize?" Harry smirked at his favorite Auror, though Fardale was a close second after meeting him that morning.

"Oh don't worry, your prize is awaiting you at the castle doors," Tonks had a devious look in her eyes when answering his question.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Well since you are a highly valuable target, the Order usually has someone looking out for you when you're in public. I didn't see you get off the train, so I told the conductor in my capacity as an Auror that I was performing a sweep of the train. I reached a compartment that was locked, put two and two together, and got a knocked out Harry Potter with a crushed nose."

"I would tell you how I got into that situation but it's a long story with a particularly embarrassing ending. So I'll save it for another time," Harry stated much to Nymphadora's displeasure.

"Oh come on Harry, I'm your saviour, you can't just leave me hanging," Tonks complained.

"I promise I'll tell you next time I see you, I just really don't want to think about it. I will tell you that it all started with an Auror escort, a French Veela, and me getting drunk at a lunch party."

"That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke," Tonks had a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"That's exactly what it felt like living it too," Harry joked.

"I wish I went to school with you Harry, you seem to have all the fun. I would never describe my time at Hogwarts as _tame_ , but when compared to you, no other word comes to mind."

"You're looking better then when I last saw you," Harry spoke honestly. She really did, the normal klutzy jig in her step was back, her hair was freely flickering through a rainbow of colors like a very confused chameleon, and a smile lit up her pretty face.

"I suppose I am," she replied simply, "seeing you helped, and I've been given a lot of support recently from both people at work and the Order."

"Have you ever met Auror Fardale?" Harry asked suddenly.

Tonks paused for a second, "We've never been on an assignment together, but I've spoken to him at the office a few times. Nice guy, easy going, demon with a wand if he ever takes a situation seriously enough. Why?"

"No reason really, just met him today. He was one of the escorts, and I got along with him pretty easily. But when the only other Auror to talk to is Conner, it was an easy choice as to who I chatted with."

Tonks laughed at that, "Yeah, Conner is a bit of a stick in the mud, but he's one of the best and most experienced in the department. He's taken Bones death really hard, and it's made him turn inwards on himself. He was stony before she died, but now he's as tough as granite."

As they approached the front gates of the school, Harry looked up at Tonks, "Am I going to see you around often? Or is this a onetime thing?"

"Don't worry kiddo you'll be seeing me around. I've volunteered for a few of the Hogsmeade shifts, and the Ministry is planning on sending a couple of Aurors to patrol Hogwarts every now and then," she explained as they reached the main gates. "Well it's time for you to claim your prize!"

"What is it?" Harry asked looking around.

"Potter, what a surprise to see you coming late to the feast once again. Could you simply not control yourself from trying to step even more into the spotlight, is being the Chosen One not enough for you?" came the harsh voice that could only belong to Severus Snape.

Harry's face fell instantly before looking at Tonks, "This… is my prize."

Seeing the genuine disappointment on Harry's face, Tonks burst out laughing.

"Move Potter," Snape pushed Harry forward as they left the cackling Metamorphmagus behind. "Also, 20 points from Gryffindor for being a show off even when there is nobody to show off to. If you hurry, you might be able to catch the tail-end of the feast. I would like to let you know that my task of having to come gather you like a lost sheep has forced me to miss the feast as well. That will not go unpunished, do try to remember that during our first lesson together."

With that, Snape waved his wand, causing Harry's nose to snap painfully back into place, probably more painfully than it actually needed to be, and he pushed Harry through the doors leading into the Great Hall.

Doing his best to avoid as much attention as possible, Harry slinked his way over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed a napkin to stem the blood flowing from his nose.

"Harry, what the hell happened to you!?" Ron shouted through a mouthful of food, before swallowing.

"Ronald, language!" Hermione chastised, before turning her attention back to Harry, "But we all want to know what happened to you? You never came back to the compartment and we all waited for you by the carriages, but you never showed up. We all figured you must have gotten on one of the first carriages… oh my goodness you're bleeding!" she shrieked, drawing the attention of students nearby.

"I'm fine, Hermione, really," Harry said quickly hoping to keep people's attention away from him, "I just, uh, I tripped and broke my nose after leaving Ho-Slughorn's compartment."

"You tripped…" Ginny Weasley spoke up, "you disappear for hours on end, we can't find you at the carriages, you pretty much miss the entire feast and are escorted in with Snape, and you have a recently fixed broken nose," Ginny poked her finger against Harry's chest with each point she made, "you expect us to believe that you _tripped_? At least give us a better excuse if you don't want to tell us," she snapped, snatching the blood stained napkin out of Harry's hand and replacing it with a clean one that she used to dab at his face.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, "thanks Gin," he said after she finished cleaning up his face. "Listen I don't want to go into all the details," Harry continued looking at all of his friends, "but I had a pretty hectic train ride this year, and I did something stupid and got hurt for it. Luckily Tonks found me on the train, and nothing came of it."

"Tonks was here?" Hermione asked.

"From what she told me, the Ministry is stationing guards in Hogsmeade and there is the odd squadron of Aurors that will be stopping by in Hogwarts from time to time. She told me that we'll be seeing her occasionally, but I figure it will be more than that given her role in the Order."

"That's good isn't it?"

"It's really good," Ron answered Hermione's question, "didn't you here what Auror Proudfoot was saying in the car? The Ministry has given new life to the Aurors and the DMLE as a whole. With them patrolling high risk areas like Hogsmeade it shows that they're taking a proactive stance against the Death Eaters, which is much better than the reactive strategy that failed miserably during the first war."

"How do you know that?" Hermione looked at Ron with something Harry couldn't place.

"I decided to do some reading over the summer," Ron answered sheepishly, "bought a couple of books on the old war and one on the history of the Auror department. Thought it might help out with how the world is falling apart around us."

"Oh Ron that's fantastic! Do you think I might… maybe be able to borrow them?" Hermione asked shyly.

Not wanting to witness the agonizingly slow dance between Ron and Hermione and their obvious affection for one another, Harry tuned them out and glanced around the Great Hall. He missed the sorting again, so he couldn't put any names to the fresh faces of the first years, but it's not like he would have interacted with them anyway.

Looking over at the Hufflepuff table, he saw groups of students all huddled very closely to one another talking in low voices. It looked as if the Hufflepuffs were taking the loyalty that their house is known for very seriously. There didn't look to be one student sitting alone and not participating in any of the conversations. He spotted the auburn head of Susan Bones whispering into Hannah Abbot's ear, before she suddenly turned around and her eyes connected with Harry's. Harry sent her a small smile, not knowing what else to do, and she blushed furiously looking down shyly into her lap.

Raking his eyes over the Ravenclaw table beside them, Harry gave Megan a friendly wave. It looked as if she was wondering why he came late to the feast, but he wasn't going to yell his response across the table. He saw Luna as well speaking to a few of the younger year girls, when she met Harry's gaze all she did was give him a knowing look with her silver eyes.

Finally taking a chance, Harry looked over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy sat near the end, bookended by the hulking figures of Crabbe and Goyle, and chatting with Parkinson, Nott, Urquhart, and few other particularly shady looking Slytherins. He gave a slight nod to Pucey and Shafiq who looked amused at Harry's dishevelled state. Zabini was trying to flirt with a seventh year, Tracey was babbling something to Daphne, but Greengrass was staring right at Harry.

There was just something about Greengrass and her stare and entire countenance, that made Harry feel as if she could see right through him. She looked concerned, but Harry knew he could easily be mistaken, because he found it to be an exercise in futility trying to get a read off of Daphne's face. They stared at each other much longer than deemed socially appropriate. If someone looked between the two of them, they would think they were having a conversation via legilimency, or some type of long distance staring contest.

Their staring broke off at the sound of clipping heels and familiar Scottish brogue, "Mr. Potter," Harry looked up to see the stern face of Minerva McGonagall. Harry noticed that her eyes softened at seeing some of the dried blood that hadn't been cleaned off, "It is nice of you to finally join us for the feast Mr. Potter, I'm sure you had a good reason for your absence. The headmaster would like to see you in his office after the feast," she continued on, cutting off Harry's attempt to give a half-hearted apology, "he says the password to his office is something he has particularly rotten luck with whenever he eats."

"Thank you Professor, it's good to see you," McGonagall's lips twitched before leaving to return to her seat.

"What's Dumbledore want?" Ron asked.

"No idea, maybe he wants to talk about why I missed the feast? Could be anything really," Harry pretended not to know, but he was fairly certain it had to do with his private lessons. "I should probably make my way up there already; he'll probably get there before me anyways. I'm convinced that he can apparate or something."

"Really Harry? I don't know how many times I have to tell you two this, but you can't apparate on Hogwarts ground, it says so in Hogw-"

"I get that Hermione, but don't you think there are some perks to being Headmaster?" Hermione looked pensive for a moment, and Ron looked as if Christmas had come early. Letting that stew in their minds, Harry picked himself off of the bench and exited the Great Hall.

Making his way up the grand staircase to the seventh floor, Harry's mind wandered to the subject that was Albus Dumbledore. The man confused Harry, and thinking back on his past actions only seemed to make it worse. When Harry first met the man, he was in awe of the grand sorcerer that stood in his presence, a man of insurmountable power and wisdom. He was eccentric, Harry loved that about him, it made the man seem a little bit more real. Harry thought Dumbledore was everything a grandfather should be, he felt loved and he felt safe.

The revelations at the end of the year that Dumbledore used the Philosophers Stone to lure Voldemort to the castle, was the first time his view of Dumbledore was shaken. How could this wise old man lure the Dark Lord Voldemort, the man who had murdered his parents, to a school filled with innocent children? He put Harry in harm's way, and was the reason Harry had essentially killed a man before his twelfth birthday.

He was the man who had given Harry his father's invisibility cloak, he had given him wise council and remarkably useful words of wisdom. The day after the rumours spread that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, Dumbledore addressed the school putting the rumours to rest. He defended Harry, provided proof of his innocence, and handed out pamphlets detailing the cultural and historical importance of Parseltongue within Britain and around the world. Dumbledore was the main reason Harry had embraced his gift, and had gifted him several tomes on the magic behind the language.

Again in his fourth year, when Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, it had taken very little convincing for Dumbledore to believe Harry's innocence in that situation. Having taught at Hogwarts for decades, Harry figured Dumbledore predicted what impressionable teenagers would do, and made another school wide announcement proclaiming Harry's non-consensual participation in the tournament. That announcement had saved Harry's friendship with Ron, and prevented a school wide vilification on the extra champion

Even last year, when he spent almost the entire schoolyear avoiding Harry, Dumbledore still protected Harry to the best of his abilities. The day after visiting McGonagall's office for his career meeting with his scarred hand, there was chatter amongst students that they saw Dumbledore storm into Umbridge's office. McGonagall must have noticed his attempts to hide the damage, because the blood quill had never been seen again.

The good things the man had done always brought a smile to his face, but it quickly disappeared as his mind went to the memories of things Harry simply just could not understand. As if sensing his darkening mood, thunder cracked and lightning flashed from a nearby portrait depicting the gruesome defeat of a particularly dark wizard.

Why Dumbledore thought it best to not close down the school, and let a scrawny second year Gryffindor defeat a Basilisk in one-on-one combat was beyond him. Dumbledore had knowingly left him at the Dursley's for his entire childhood rather than searching for an appropriate wizarding family to take him in. He had kept Harry in the dark in regards to his godfather Sirius Black, and had somehow not managed to notice that one of his old friends was being impersonated for an entire year.

It had taken a fare few years, but Harry had finally spotted the flaws in Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't the omnipotent wizard the world saw him to be. He was just as human as everyone else.

Harry loved the Headmaster, and looked up to him in terms of his prodigal skill with a wand and awe inspiring power; but he just couldn't put the same amount of trust in the man and follow him without question. Albus Dumbledore loved him, cared for him, and had protected him more times than he could count, but their relationship would never be what Harry once hoped it could have been. The prophecy and the events at the Ministry had seen to that.

"Bertie Bott's," Harry called out, not breaking stride as the gargoyle slid out of the way, revealing the spiraling stair case.

"Come in Harry," the gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore came floating through the door as Harry was about to knock.

Opening the door, Harry was met with the sight of a very familiar looking room. Fawkes was sitting on his perch; towers of papers were stacked so high it looked as if a slight breeze could push them over; various books were scattered throughout the room, marked and opened at specific pages; and there was a significant number of missing trinkets and magical instruments.

"I see you have noticed the open real estate I have in a number of my shelving units, I was thinking of putting up my extensive collection of Chocolate Frog Cards. For a man who has lived as long as I and with a sweet tooth like mine, I can confidently say that I might have the largest collection in all of Britain," Dumbledore spoke with a soft look in his cerulean blue eyes.

"I think that would be an excellent bit of interior decorating, sir," Harry replied with a kind smile.

"I was going to greet you saying that you are looking well, Harry, but it would seem that your penchant for finding trouble has already acted up," the old man chuckled. "Severus does a fantastic job of fixing injuries, but a word of advice for the future, if you are looking for a pain-free experience I would recommend seeing Poppy."

"It certainly wasn't pleasant, perhaps next time I'll just leave my nose the way it is," Harry joked.

"Perhaps you should, there seems to be a lack of good men with crooked noses in our world," Dumbledore smirked while tapping his distinctly crooked nose with a gloved finger. "Alas, there are a few things I would like to discuss with you this evening. First of which is that I have the annual reports for the Lily Evans Scholarship," Dumbledore passed over a stack of parchments to Harry, "feel free to look them over if you please, bit I believe they are all in order. Unsurprisingly, there were a significant rise in sales this summer, so you might find the number's for this year are a shade inflated."

Harry looked down at the bottom of the page of a bank notice attached to the papers, and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "That is a lot of money, sir," Harry was shocked.

"Indeed it is my boy," he agreed while stroking his beard, "Had you joined us for the sorting, you would have noticed that the number of first year students is almost double that of last year. I would say it is fair to assume that your mother would be quite proud with the success of the scholarship this year, and its ability to provide high class education for those with low class living situations."

The Lily Evans Scholarship was something that Albus Dumbledore had initiated the summer of Harry's second year. From his position of Chief Warlock, he had heard whispers of a number of authors looking to capitalize on the legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived and were publishing a series of adventure books using Harry as the protagonist. Knowing the lack of laws on copyright and image rights within Wizarding Britain, Dumbledore looked to make the best of a bad situation. Using his own money to buy up the rights to these books, Dumbledore became the sole owner of the Harry Potter and Boy-Who-Lived adventure books. The money accumulated from the sales sat in independent vault in Gringotts until Dumbledore transferred it over to Harry during his first year.

Upon hearing this, Harry refused the fortune the books had accumulated over the years and had instead opted to open up a scholarship fund. The Lily Evans Scholarship was created, transferred over to Harry, and run by Dumbledore. The Creevey brothers, and many others scattered throughout the school had the scholarship to thank for paying their Hogwarts tuition.

"What else would you like to discuss, sir?" Harry prompted their conversation to move along.

"I would like to ask you to keep an open mind with Severus as the Defense Professor this year. Your history with Severus is not entirely pleasant," Harry snorted at what was possibly the understatement of the century, "however, it never had to be that way. Sometimes I find myself wondering what could have been had Severus managed to move on from his past."

"Does this have to do with how Snape was friends with my mum?" Harry asked curiously.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore gently reminded him, "but yes, that is precisely what I was thinking of. Do you mind me asking how you came across this information? Was it Remus or Sirius?"

Harry gulped at his godfather's name, "No sir, the two of them actively tried to mention the existence of Professor Snape as little as possible," Harry admitted honestly, getting a laugh out of Dumbledore, "It was actually from Professor Slughorn."

"Ah, Horace of course, I should have known," Dumbledore mused to himself as his gloved hand played with an odd looking ring, "Horace knew better than anyone else the complicated relationship that existed between Lily and Severus. They were his dream team, two of the best brewers he ever had the pleasure of teaching if his words are to be believed."

"Do you know more about them, sir?" Harry asked, wanting to get to the bottom of how his mother could have ever been friends with Severus Snape.

"I do Harry, in fact I might be the only person in this world, bar Severus, who knows more about it than Horace," Dumbledore stuck a placating hand in the air, "No, I cannot tell you anymore. As much as I wish I could, and as good as I think it would do both you and Severus to discuss this, I cannot in good conscious divulge any more information. You must air your grievances and dig up the past with Severus in your own time."

"I understand, sir," Harry answered slightly disappointed, "and I promise to keep an open mind in class with Sna-Proffesor Snape."

"Good, good, I appreciate your sacrifice Harry," Dumbledore teased, "You might even be pleasantly surprised, he is after all the most qualified teacher for the position that I have hired in decades."

Harry yawned.

"I figure you must have had a busy day, my boy, so I will finish up with this last bit of business. Your lessons with me will take up a lot of your free time this year along with your normal classes, as such I have taken the liberty of naming Katie Bell the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor. I hope you understand?" Dumbledore asked looking slightly afraid as to how Harry would take the news.

Harry was surprised that he was even considered to be Quidditch Captain, he had assumed it would be going to Katie given that she was the most senior player on the team. "That isn't an issue, sir. I was never one for Quidditch tactics anyways, I just go out there and catch the snitch."

"Beautiful in its simplicity, Harry. That does ease my mind, especially in regards to Minerva. She was rightfully enraged when I told her of my decision, and she made it very clear that she would only cooperate if you agreed with my decision. Now that we have covered that issue, another question I have is if you are planning on continuing your defense study club this year?"

"I am not, I realized that between our meetings and my classes I wouldn't have the time to dedicate to the D.A. this year. I was planning on hosting one last meeting, perhaps tomorrow, and letting them know then."

"A very mature decision, Harry, something most people would not do. I agree that it is in our best interests that you step down from your leadership role in the club, however I do not agree that it needs to close down."

"Headmaster?" Harry questioned.

"Your club, the D.A., was possibly the only good thing that come out of the disaster that was last year, and I would hate to see such a good thing go to waste. The decision is entirely yours as it is your club, but might I suggest allowing it to continue. I see no reason for students of varying houses to cease interacting with one another and practicing defense. In fact, I believe the D.A. can evolve into an actually study club, rather than a student led 'army' as Cornelius liked to put it."

"I can do that, sir," Harry actually thought it was a genius idea.

"Brilliant!" Dumbledore beamed, as he quickly jumped out from behind his desk and grabbed a stack of books that were sitting off to the side, "now I have some reading I need you to do before our first lesson. These," Dumbledore passed over a couple of old battered books, "are some advanced tomes on Charms, Transfiguration, and the nature of magic. I do not expect you to completely understand everything that is written in these books, Merlin knows I still don't understand everything in them. I simply want you to build a foundation of knowledge of which we will build off of. And this," Dumbledore passed over a book called _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ , "is one of the more valuable items I want you to look through."

"But sir, these are the Dark Arts!" Harry looked horrified over the fact that Dumbledore was willingly handing over a book filled with vile magic and was telling him to read it.

"Which is precisely why you will not under any circumstances perform any of the magic you read, and will not show anyone this book," Dumbledore said in a very stern voice.

"Harry, perhaps I can explain my reasoning," Dumbledore's voice softened as he continued, "over the time we will spend together in the coming months, you will come to realize that in order to beat your opponent you must come to understand them. The Dark Arts are dangerous and seductive, and have ruined the lives of many promising wizards and witches when not approached with caution. However, with a proper anchor, as I will be to you, they can provide a wealth of information that will prove to be invaluable in the long run."

Harry still looked unsure.

"Trust me, Harry, we will get through this together," Dumbledore promised him as he lay his gloved hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now I believe it is just passed curfew and I wouldn't want to keep you. Keep to the right and use the passageway behind the portrait of Mr. Archibald Alderton and his famous cake, and I believe you will find the coast to be clear."

"Goodnight Headmaster," Harry called as he left the office, smiling to himself at Dumbledore's antics. Following his orders, Harry slipped through the halls and exited the passageway just as Filch turned the corner in front of him. It was a short walk later that he found himself in front of the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she asked sleepily.

"Oh," Harry internally panicked over the fact that he never found out from Ron and Hermione what the password was, "well, I was just in a meeting with Dumbledore, he kno-" he was cut off as the portrait opened at Dumbledore's name.

Rushing up the stairs to the boy's dorm, Harry entered to find that everyone had already gone to bed. Throwing his new books into his trunk, Harry quickly changed and hopped into his four-poster bed. Wrapping himself up in the pleasantly warm covers, Harry closed his eyes and only just then realized how crazy his day had been, and the school year had barely even begun.

 **AN**

 **Hello, I realize that it has been quite a while since my last update. I hope you all enjoyed my extra long chapter today. This story will not be updated until after the third week of April, as Final Exams are coming up and my focus will be on them. However, there might be an update on my other story as early as tomorrow but that could very well stretch to after my exams as well. Sorry that I don't have a clear time table at the moment.**

 **I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you liked the interactions between the various characters I introduced.**

 **Until next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

The first morning of the year was the only time the Great Hall was completely filled for breakfast. Partially because it was mandatory, but also because students couldn't wait to pick up the schedules that would dictate the rest of their year. There was a sense of anticipation, as children sat around waiting to find out which days they would dread and complain about for the rest of the year, and which days they would spend lounging around the common room wasting the valuable time that they could be doing their homework.

With the lower years getting their schedule's first, Harry could see the looks of disgust that could only come as a result of double potions, followed by History of Magic and Transfiguration. Harry thought that they got off lucky this year, with Slughorn taking over potions and Snape moving to the position he had sought after for years. Even now, he still carried a hint of the trauma that came with his early year schedules. There was no doubt in his mind, that Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall picked that schedule on purpose as some type of sick joke.

Picking his favorite selection of foods from the table, Harry ate silently listening to the conversations around him. Ron was talking to Dean and Seamus about heading out to the Quidditch pitch for a quick fly around, making the most of his time off before classes started the next day. Hermione was babbling to nobody in particular about how she had a few projects she wanted to get a start on, along with her class readings. Neville was currently at the professor's table talking to Professor Sprout, probably about some extra work he was looking to get done in the greenhouses. Everything was as it should be, and life was good.

Except it wasn't.

Beneath the carefree chatter that echoed throughout the Great Hall, there was a strong undercurrent of tension, nervousness and anticipation. Everyone looked on edge, as if any sudden movements from one end of the Great Hall would make them jump for their wands. It was a sad sight to see how truly divided some of the houses were.

Having missed the sorting ceremony, Harry didn't know what the Sorting Hat's song was, but based off of the last few years he figured it was similar in nature to what he had heard previously. Singing about the origins of the houses and their values, and the tragedy that befell them when Salazar fled the school forever rupturing the relationship between four great friends. It likely ended with the hat calling for the school to stand strong and stand together in the darkness to come.

Looking at the Slytherin table, and even a few Ravenclaws, Harry thought he could see the glimmer of anticipation in some of their eyes. Like predators watching their prey, they waited, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they could strike. As sad a thought as it was, Harry knew there must be a handful of Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's who were of a similar mindset. Just like Pettigrew, they either hid it well or they were destined to choose the opposing side. Harry didn't like to think the worst about his housemates, so he shook his thoughts from those depressing topics.

"Mr. Potter," the voice of Professor McGonagall drew his attention from the eggs he was trying to finish, "your timetable for this upcoming year," she handed over a piece of parchment with his name on it. "I admit, I was rather disappointed with the Headmaster's and your decision to pass along the Quidditch captaincy to Katie Bell. Miss Bell is certainly capable, however I found myself nostalgic in the hope that another Potter would lead us to glory. I hope your marks this year reflect the extra time you have to devote to you studies. I was rather impressed with your OWL results," she finished with glint of pride on her otherwise stony face.

"I'll do my best, professor, and I promise to do my part in keeping the cup in your office for another year. I can't think of a place in the entire castle where it would look better," he smiled at his head of house.

"See to it that you do," she nodded, before handing out the remaining timetables to his year mates.

Opening up his schedule and seeing that it wasn't the worst thing in the world, Harry looked into his book bag to check he had the correct textbooks. It seemed that Hermione had bought all of the correct texts for him when they travelled to Diagon Alley, except he was missing his potions textbook.

"Hermione," he called his bushy haired friends name, drawing her attention, "Do you know where my potions book is?"

Hermione stiffened for a moment before looking apologetically at him, "Oh Harry I'm terribly sorry, I forgot to buy it for you. Well… I didn't actually forget to buy it, it's just that I didn't think you would need it. I looked at your OWL results and I saw you only got and Exceeds Expectations in Potions, and Snape made it clear that he would only accept those who got an Outstanding," Hermione tried to explain, before a small frown crept upon her brow, "I'm so _silly_ , how absolutely stupid of me. It's Professor Slughorn teaching potions this year, Dumbledore announced it during the feast if you didn't know, and he seems to like you, so of course he would let you into NEWT potions."

"That's fine Hermione, I'm sure Slughorn will understand. I can just OWL Flourish and Blotts to send me a copy of the new potions book," Harry tried to placate his friend, who was clearly upset at the thought that her actions had already put Harry behind in his potions readings.

"You heard about that did you?" Dean Thomas called from a few seats over, "Slughorn teaching potions and Snape taking over defense. The school celebrated at the first part, loudest cheer I think I've ever heard... except the Slytherins of course. But I think the groan everyone let out when Snape got defense was louder than the cheer."

"Yeah, and Ron over there almost passed out by choking on a chicken leg when Dumbledore told us. Almost had to get Madam Pomfrey to come clear his airways," Seamus added, laughing hysterically at the memory.

"Wait a second, you knew ahead of time," Ginny accused from beside Dean. Harry knew that he was in trouble. "You don't look surprised in the slightest… why didn't you tell us beforehand!"

"I thought I'd leave it a surprise," Harry said, only increasing the ire of the redheaded witch, "I wanted to see how you guys would react to the announce, not like I actually got to anyways," Harry grumbled while rubbing his nose.

"I think Professor Slughorn will be a fantastic Potions Professor," Hermione chimed in, taking over the conversation, "I read about him in a few history books. He taught here for decades before retiring. It says that he is one of the most respected Potions Masters in all of Britain, he even taught Snape!"

"Well of course he taught Snape if he taught at the school for decades," Ron said without thinking.

"I didn't mean it like that Ronald," Hermione smacked him over the head, "I meant that Professor Snape is known for being the youngest Potions Master in British history, and if he was taught by Professor Slughorn, imagine how good he must be," Hermione was almost giddy with excitement for their first Potions class the next day.

"Well good for you guys, I hope you enjoy him. I know I'll be enjoying my free period," Ron looked pleased at the extra sleep he wold be getting the next morning.

"You're taking it with us," Hermione ordered.

"Bu-"

"No buts, Ron, you got an Exceeds Expectations on your potions OWL as well. You have no excuse not to take the class with us, besides being lazy. You need to get your potions NEWT if you want to join the Auror Corps."

As if suddenly remembering what he wanted to do when he grew up, other than Keeping for the Chudley Cannons, Ron grudgingly agreed to join Potions the next morning.

"Oi Harry, you want to take a whirl around the Quidditch pitch. I heard Hooch telling Katie that the pitch is open for whoever wants to play today," Seamus asked. The Irish boy and his muggleborn friend were not the most skilled Quidditch players, but they enjoyed playing and watching the game none the less. Though, Dean liked to complain about how much better football was then Quidditch.

"Sure thing, I've got nothing better to do this morning. It will be good to get back in the wide open air," Harry answered, ignoring Hermione's groan about boys and sports.

Flying at the Burrow was always a lot of fun, it allowed Harry to prevent any rust from hampering his game. The hybrid Quidditch that they invented was a highly entertaining, fast paced game, that greatly improved Harry's skill with a Quaffle, but it would never compare to a real Quidditch match. Playing at the Burrow they always needed to be wary of being spotted by Muggles, and it restricted the range at which they could fly. Now that he was back at Hogwarts, Harry could fly as far and fast as he wanted, looping around, and perform the death defying tricks and dives that got his blood pumping like nothing else in the world.

After running up to the dorms to grab his Firebolt and quickly changing into more appropriate flying attire, Harry rushed back to the entrance of the Great Hall where a group of Quidditch players from all houses gathered. The moment they exited the school, Harry couldn't help himself, and hopped on his Firebolt before zooming through the courtyard and out towards the pitch. He would likely get a detention from McGonagall for that, but it was totally worth it.

The wind was flying through his hair as he cut through the air like knife through butter. In the back of his mind, he figured the rest of the players were distributing up into teams but he didn't feel the need to join them at the time. Instead, he lost himself in the moment.

Nothing in the world compared to flying in his opinion. Flying on his broom, on a Hippogriff, or on the back of a Thestral, it didn't matter to him as long as he was in the air. If he ever decided to become an animagus, he hoped that his form would be a bird of some kind or at least something that could fly.

The fear that he would be something restricted to land, or worse water, was one of the reasons he refused to attempt the transformation. That, and he felt like being an animagus was something better left in the memory of both his father and godfather. In his deepest moments of sadness, Harry liked to imagine the Padfoot and Prongs were running together again somewhere, with his mother smiling over both of them.

However, those were dreams, while this was reality, and the reality of the situation in that moment was that Harry was in the process of pulling off a dive even Victor Krum would be proud of. Pulling up on his broom with all his strength, just inches from the grass, Harry levelled out a second before crashing into the ground. Just to be the show off Snape accused him of being, Harry added a series of barrel roles, before shooting off back into the sky.

That was how Harry's morning flew by. He was invited to join the pick-up Quidditch matches more times than he could count, but he refused. Harry had no interest in playing a game with no snitch.

"Are you sure you haven't been flying over the summer?" a cheerful voice pulled up beside him, "Because I'm pretty sure you weren't this good last time I saw you."

"Could just be a onetime thing," Harry attempted to be modest, "I haven't had the chance to fly like this since the match I did my best to cave Malfoy's head in. I still stand strong in the opinion that the life time ban was worth getting a few shots in."

"I don't think Angelina was of the same opinion," the brunette girl joked.

Harry cringed at the memory of how pissed off Angelina Johnson was when the match was over. Katie and Alicia had told him that she cried for weeks after the twins and him were kicked off of the team. Apparently Angelina had been dreaming of winning the cup as captain from the moment she first found a spot on the team.

Harry felt awful for the girl, as she had fallen on some tough luck. The first year she would have been captain was cancelled because of the Triwizard Tournament, and to add insult to injury, she wasn't picked as champion, while Harry was thrown into the tournament. She made it clear that she knew he didn't put himself in and didn't hold it against him, but Harry could tell it hurt her ego. Then in her last year, when the team they had was a shoe-in to win the cup, Umbridge tore their team apart.

But as a testament to Angelina's skill as captain and devotion to Quidditch, she managed to pull off the impossible and win the cup with a rag tag group of players. Even at the consequence of being labelled a slave driver and Oliver Wood reborn.

"Well she did win it in the end, and without me, so what does that say about your chances for this year?" Harry smirked at his friend.

"Not much considering she's not here this year. Besides the only reason you won last year was because Ginny Weasley managed to make the luckiest catch I have ever seen," Megan sounded a little bitter that the cup was snatched out of her grasp last year.

"Luckier than my first catch?"

Megan started to giggle uncontrollably, remembering a terrified eleven-year-old Harry Potter playing in his first match against Slytherin, "Well, maybe it wasn't as lucky as almost swallowing the snitch, but it was still damn lucky."

"Everyone says that, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who's ever caught the snitch with their mouth before. I think that is a testament to my skill, and I should be added to _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for it. I felt bad for Slytherin you know," Harry added in a low voice, "tried to give them a fair shot at winning by not using my hands, but they still managed to mess up."

"Was almost falling off of your broom also a part of your master plan," she played along.

"No, that was me trying not to die. Apparently Quirrell thought I'd look much better as a bloody splat on the ground then I would with my body completely intact and snitch in my hand... or mouth in that case."

"Only you, Harry," she shook her head in exasperation, "I don't think there's another person in the whole world who could go from almost being cursed off their broom, to catching a snitch with their mouth in a matter of seconds."

"What can I say, I'm special," Harry joined Megan in her laughter.

"Hey guys," a second voice sounded, as Ginny Weasley pulled up in the air between the two, "what's going on?" she asked looking at Harry, not seeing the frown on Megan's face.

"Just enjoying the air, Gin, perfect day for some flying," Harry commented at which Ginny nodded, "Megan here was just mentioning how impressed she was with your catch to win the cup last year," Harry teased knowing Megan's thoughts on the situation.

"Really?" Ginny looked surprised and blushed lightly, "It wasn't too difficult, I just really wanted to catch the snitch."

"Oh, so it's that easy, is it?" Megan asked with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "Why didn't you tell us how easy it is to catch the snitch Harry, do you think it's too late for me to convert to a Seeker?"

"I think the scouts would have a heart attack if you did, not to mention what your sister would have to say about it," Harry tried to head off the direction of the conversation, "there's a little bit more to seeking than that, but Ginny got the gist of it. Maybe just a bit of beginner's luck."

"Maybe, but I've watched you play so many times Harry, I just felt like I knew what to do in the air. I just did what you would have done."

"You did catch the snitch in the end, which is probably what Harry would have done in that situation. He does have quite the catch rate," Megan tried to be nice. "His catch rate is almost as high as the number of matches his missed due to unforeseen circumstances, and the amount of times he's fallen off his broom," she added teasingly.

"Don't joke about that," Ginny cut in protectively, "Harry could have been hurt in those situations."

"I was just teasing, Ginny, besides he was fine. How could he not be when the likes of Professor Lockhart were there to vanis-I mean, to _heal_ his injuries."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that. Whenever he thought back to his second year Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, he always found new ways in which he was incompetent.

"I noticed you weren't made Quidditch captain this year, Harry?" Megan asked, she had been wanting to know what happened ever since she spotted the badge on Katie Bell's robes during the opening feast.

"Yeah, I didn't really want it, too much on my plate this year," Harry ruffled the back of his windswept hair.

"Too much on your plate, or didn't want to have to deal with all the tactics that go with the job? Or was it that you didn't want to fight with me over practice times, because you knew that you'd bow to my every whim if I asked you to?"

"A little bit of all three if I'm being completely honest. But I think Katie would make a better captain than I would anyways. She follows Quidditch closer than I do, and has been playing for most of her life. Also, after spending time with Alicia and Angelina for six years, something must have rubbed off on to her."

"Fair enough, but I think you're selling yourself short, Harry. Anyways, I've got to go and shower, promised to give some of the newbies a tour around the castle and Flitwick wants to talk to me about setting up the Ravenclaw tutoring times. See you around Harry… Ginny," she added as an afterthought before shooting off at full speed towards the changing rooms.

"Did you ask her if what you two are doing is a date?" Ginny immediately asked him after Megan left.

Harry wanted to bang his head against a wall, repeatedly, after hearing that. He knew there was something he was supposed to ask Megan but for the life of him he couldn't remember it when they were talking. Maybe he could get his hands on a blood quill and engrave the note onto the back of his hands. The dark part of Harry's mind thought it would look quite funny seeing _I must not tell lies_ right next to _Ask if it's really a date_. The thought of the blood quill led his mind to the question of what happened to Dolores Umbridge after she was rescued from the centaurs. Harry wasn't ashamed to admit that he was disappointed when Dumbledore went out to retrieve the evil hag.

"No, I forgot to ask," Harry sighed before slowly descending towards the castle with Ginny following beside him.

"So are we going to meet tonight with the D.A.?" Ginny asked as they landed on a pathway leading to the front courtyard.

"I need to have a shower first, but I'll send out the notice on the coin when I've freshened up. Start spreading the word," he instructed her, to which she agreed. They then spent the rest of the trip up to Gryffindor Tower in easy conversation about what they might do during the meeting.

Entering the 6th year dorms, Harry dropped his broom off in the corner of the room and started to undress, before grabbing his toiletries and heading into the shower. Letting the cool water rush over him, Harry let out a content sigh of relief. He was a tad bit enthusiastic in his flying that morning, and his muscles were letting him know.

Harry had yet to figure out what type of intent based charm was placed on the showers that allowed them to release the perfect temperature water every time, depending on the mood of whoever was showering. It was pure genius and probably the greatest magical invention of all time. He hoped that whoever came up with the charm was given an Order of Merlin First Class, at least. He swore to find the origins of the spell and install it into his own shower one day.

Drying himself off and throwing on a clean set of clothes, Harry walked back into the dorm to see the back of the dirty blonde hair of his friend looking through his trunk. "Hey Nev, what are you looking for?" Harry asked as he shook his damp air like a dog.

"Oh, hi Harry, I was just looking for some of the fertilizer I packed. Pomona got a shipment of a fascinating species of plant from South America and she wants my help with getting them set up properly," Neville explained, showing his familiarity with the Herbology professor by the use of her first name.

"Anything I would know?" Harry asked out of curtesy, not particularly caring what the plant was.

"It's a rare breed found in Peru, you won't be familiar with the name of the plant but you might have heard about what it produces. The Seeds of Life, well that's not its real name, but the translation is roughly that," Neville said as he pulled out a massive jar of fertilizer from the bottom of his trunk.

"Those are the seeds that are supposed to help with healing ancient curses right?" Harry did in fact know about this particular seed. It was one of the rare times that Herbology overlapped with things he read in his books on defense and curses. Harry remembered the seeds had something to do with ancient Mayan wizards using them to heal their own dark curses.

"Yeah, the potency of the seeds when used with the correct combination of ingredients is outstanding. Apothecaries pay hundreds of galleons just for a single shipment of them. The plants themselves aren't very expensive, but that's because most of them are not able to produce seeds at all. It takes a lot of close care to get the seeds to grow, and still not all of them will mature properly."

"Well, have fun Neville, let me know if you manage to get the plants to produce seeds. Oh, wait!" Harry called out to his friend just as he was about to leave the dorm, "the D.A. is going to meet at seven o'clock today right after dinner in our regular spot, I'm sending the message right away."

"Great Harry, I'm looking forward to it! I will let Hannah… and uh, anybody else I see know," Neville blushed before heading down the stairs.

Rummaging through his trunk, Harry found an old pair of Dudley's socks that he frequently used to store valuable items inside. He thought it was a rather clever plan. What person looking for things of value in his trunk would want to touch an old pair of extra-large grey socks.

Picking up an inconspicuous looking galleon, Harry took out his wand and changed the lettering around the outer edge of the coin.

 _R.o.R. 7 D.A. and H.P._

Setting the message and sending it out, Harry felt the familiar burning sensation come from the coin in his hand. He just hoped that everyone caught word of what was happening and still kept the coin on them, or at least near at hand.

Seeing that it was just about noon, Harry decided it would be best to grab an early lunch. But just as he was returning his charmed galleon to its hiding spot, his hands brushed over the books Dumbledore had passed onto him to read. Figuring that there was no better time to start than the present, Harry picked up the books and made a new plan.

Finding himself in front of a particularly ticklish portrait, he opened the passageway and made his way into the kitchens. Almost immediately, he was assaulted by house-elves asking if there was anything they could do for him. One house-elf in particular was a bit more enthusiastic than most.

"Master Harry Potter sir, you has come to visit Dobby! Such a great wizard you are, Dobby is not worthy to have such a good friend!" the elf cried as he attached himself to Harry's leg. Every attempt to peel Dobby from his leg, led his small friend to increase the strength of his grip. At this point, Harry was certain that he would have more luck getting down the portrait of Walburga Black than he would getting Dobby to release his leg.

"Dobby… Dobby! Do you think you could get me a nice sandwich to eat for lunch, and a goblet of pumpkin juice?" The elf immediately let go of his leg and went in search of only the best food for Harry Potter. Harry chuckled to himself, trust a house elf, even a free one, to follow orders to the tee.

Taking a seat, books in hand, and surrounded by house-elves, it led Harry to think of another house-elf that took his orders a little bit too literally.

"Kreacher!" Harry didn't know what possessed him to call that damnable house-elf, but he did so anyways. A few seconds went by without any reaction, and Harry figured that the house-elf no longer answered to him anymore, or that it finally did the world a favour and died.

Harry was disappointed when an obnoxiously loud _crack_ echoed just as his initial thoughts finished, and the old traitorous house-elf stood in front of him. "Dirty Half-blood master, calls poor Kreacher. Oh, Kreacher wishes he could have gone to good daughters of House Black, Cissy and Bella. But Kreacher must follow orders of mud-blood and bloodtraitor lover," the elf croaked to itself.

"Silence Kreacher!" Harry snapped, remembering that Kreacher was one of the main reasons why Sirius died that night at the Ministry. "What do you mean that you can't go to Bellatrix and Narcissa?"

The house-elf stayed silent.

"Speak!" Harry ordered, feeling his temper start to flare.

"Dirty half-blood master wants to know why Kreacher must suffer. Kreacher wishes to serve Mistress Bella and Mistress Cissy, but Kreacher must stay and serve Master who shames the Black legacy. Oh poor Mistress Walburga, such shame to her house," the elf started to wail.

"Why must you serve me?" Harry grit his teeth, getting an answer out of Kreacher was harder and more painful than pulling teeth.

"Kreacher must serve for the same reason Kreacher served former traitor Master. Stain on the honor of Mistress Walburga. Bloodtraitor and half-breed lover, nothing like poor master Regulus," the elf started to babble again.

"Answer. My. Question," Harry ordered holding back the urge to throttle the ancient elf.

"Kreacher must serve Lord of family, first Kreacher serve good Lord Arcturus, then Lord Orion and Mistress Walburga. Kreacher then serves dirty traitor of a master, now Kreacher must serve half-blood master. Such shame to poor Kreacher, mu-"

Before Kreacher could continue to spew more of his fanatical views, he was smacked over the head by a frying pan before being tackled to the ground by what looked like a dirty moving pillowcase. Getting over his shock, Harry saw Dobby sitting on top of Kreacher, hitting him repeatedly.

"You will not insult great Master Harry Potter anymore. Bad elf!" Dobby cried before hitting Kreacher in the head again, "Kreacher is bad elf. Harry Potter is Dobby's friend and is great wizard. Kreacher should be honored to serve Harry Potter. Harry Potter freed Dobby," Kreacher looked horrified at the thought of being free, as Dobby continued to assault him.

As much as Harry would have liked to pick up his sandwich and watch Dobby beat Kreacher to a pulp for the next hour, he realized that it would be best to stop the situation before it got out of hand. He didn't want to be the cause of a house-elf riot, and Harry had just seen firsthand how violent they could get. Despite going down in Hogwarts History, Harry was pretty sure that starting a house-elf fight club was an expulsion worthy offence.

Separating the two battling elves, Harry ordered the two of them to stop. Dobby stood still as a statue, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at the older elf. While Kreacher looked a little worse for wear, and could probably do with a seat.

"Sit! Both of you," Harry ordered, and the two elves sat on opposite ends of the table, with their heads barely peaking over the tabletop.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry looked over to his friend, "but please do not try and kill Kreacher."

"Dobby is sorry, but Dobby is not looking to kill, Dobby is only looking to maim or seriously injure," the house elf answered. Harry was fairly certain that the elf had told him something very similar in the Hospital Wing in his second year. He would have to keep Dobby away from Quidditch equipment for the foreseeable future.

"You are a free elf Dobby, you can do as you please, but please leave Kreacher alone," Harry tried again.

"Dobby understand, but if Kreacher speaks bad about Master Harry and friends, Dobby will shut Kreacher's dirty mouth."

Realizing that was the best he was going to get from Dobby, Harry then turned to Kreacher. "As your master," Kreacher flinched at the word, "I order you to not use the word mud-blood, half-breed, and bloodtraitor anymore," Kreacher gave a reluctant nod. "You also speak of traitor's Kreacher? The only thing I see when I look at you is a traitor,"

"Filthy master is calling Kreacher a traitor. Kreacher is no traitor, Kreacher serves the Noble House of Black faithfully," the old elf spat.

"No, you are a traitor. You speak about serving the Lord of House Black, yet you betrayed him. Sirius was your master," Harry's voice cracked, "and you sent him out to die. You lied to me when I spoke to you in the fireplace-"

"Kreacher did not lie," the elf defended himself weekly.

"You did not tell me the truth Kreacher, you withheld information from me when you were ordered by Sirius to serve me. Not only that, but you left the house to go to Bellatrix and Narcissa, again betraying Sirius. It was Bellatrix who killed your master," Harry's blood was boiling at the memory, "the same Bellatrix you would talk to, behind Sirius' back. If that is not betrayal, I don't know what is," Harry spat in anger.

"Mistress Bella would nev-"

"But she did Kreacher, I was there, I saw her. Mistre-Bellatrix, killed your master Sirius, she killed her own cousin," Harry's magic was threatening to break loose at this point, similar to how he felt in Dumbledore's office just before destroying half of it. Reeling in his temper before he blew up the kitchen, Harry took a deep breath, "You will obey me Kreacher, you will serve me faithfully, just as you say you serve the House of Black faithfully. If you don't, I won't hesitate to give you clothes, and your head will never be hung on that damn wall beside the rest of your family."

Kreacher was shaking in fear by the time Harry finished his threat. Harry had no doubt that he had corrected Kreacher's conflicting loyalties. The elf would never betray him again.

"Now that you understand how things are working from now on, I want you to work at Hogwarts for the rest of the year," Harry ordered Kreacher, "you will work alongside Dobby, who will be looking after you to make sure you behave," Harry saw a dangerous gleam in Dobby's eye at hearing his new task. "Finally, whenever you have time off from Hogwarts, you will return to 12 Grimmauld Place and you will clean the house. By the time summer comes around, I expect the house to look as it originally did in all of its glory. Dobby you are free to join Kreacher in his duties if you want."

At seeing the look of acceptance on Kreacher and Dobby's faces, Harry turned to his plate of food and began to eat aggressively. He had to channel all of his rage into something. The two elves _popped_ away shortly after.

Looking down at the books Harry took down to the kitchen, he grabbed the one on top and opened it up to the first page. A lot of what he read was beyond his understanding, and much too technical for him at this point in time. But, he continued on despite this and eventually came upon sections he understood and found quite interesting.

 _In the basic study of magic, and in classes taught for the basic wand arts: Transfiguration, Charms, and Defensive Dueling_ , _schoolchildren are given a quick, concise summarization of magic. We are frequently told that magic is the product of three main steps: Incantation, Wand Motion, and Intent. Though comprehensive and good as a general teaching point, these steps we are given to use as a crutch are far from the truth. This is seen in everyday life where wizards with increasingly familiarity of a spell might reduce the wand movement to nothing but a simple flick of the wrist. Others might have an increasingly stable and organized mind, and are able to perform their favorite spell without speaking at all. Sometimes a particularly stubborn child will force a spell through intent alone, despite mispronouncing the incantation and waving their wand in nonsensical patterns. The truth of the matter is that all three aspects described are all interchangeable and are all equally useless._

 _Magic is a free flowing entity. It is found everywhere in the world. It is sentient, and depending on the conditions, it is known to develop its own quirky personality. The staircases, passageways, and suits of armour in Hogwarts are a testament to this. Ignorant witches and wizards, or those who highly overestimate themselves, believe that magic is a tool. To them magic is a means to an end, and something they control._ _ **They are wrong.**_ _I could write an entire book on how terribly false they are in their beliefs, but I fear there is not enough parchment in the world to hold all my arguments against such stupidity. Magic is not beneath us; magic is above us. We are the tools of magic. There are magical covens scattered across the world who dedicate their lives to the worship of magic. It is said that when they die, they give themselves to the magic of the world and simply disappear, not a body left behind. Now I do not know if these stories are true, but over the course of my life I have seen a great many things more absurd._

 _We shape the magic within us and around us, just as magic shapes our lives in turn. A wizard with enough creativity, drive, power, and force of will can form a partnership with magic that will allow them to perform feats beyond imagination. Of course a strong grounding in theory, spell knowledge and technique are important as well, but magic so much more than that._

Harry finished reading an excerpt of a book that looked to have been written by one of Dumbledore's ancestors. The ink of the first name was slightly smudged, making it hard to tell which one.

Putting down the old tome, Harry picked up _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ and started to flip through the text.

Harry had only read for about 30 minutes before putting down the book, he could only stomach so much evil in one sitting. The descriptions of the effects of some of the curses were particularly vile, but the knowledge of recognizing them and knowing how to counter them was crucial to learn. He couldn't finish reading the section on the creation of inferi, as if he read anymore, the house-elves would have been picking up the remnants of the sandwich he had just eaten. There was even an object called a _Horcrux_ , that the book wouldn't even mention. He couldn't imagine having an object so evil that a book like that refused to even mention its purpose. The dull thumping that came from his scar at the mention of the word didn't make him feel any better either.

* * *

Instead of the dull vibration Harry had expected to wake him up from the short nap he took before heading down to dinner, Harry was rudely awakened by the sharp pecks of an owl. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and opening his mouth to tell Hedwig to piss off, Harry was met with the sight of an owl that looked vaguely familiar.

Propping himself up on his bed and seeing that it was still too early to go to the Great Hall, Harry took the letter from his talons before offering it an owl treat. The owl simply looked offended at his offering, hooted in indignation, and flew out the open window. Harry wondered if he had found one of Hedwig's long lost siblings.

Wondering who would have sent him mail only one day into the schoolyear, Harry cast a detection charm to double check it wasn't cursed, or worse a portkey. Harry knew that it was impossible for a portkey to ever work within the Hogwarts wards without the Headmasters approval, but after being kidnapped by one before, a certain amount of paranoia still lurked in the back of his mind.

The envelope containing his mail had his name written out in fairly elegant cursive. Opening it up, and removing the parchment, Harry's nose was assaulted by the familiar scent of lavender.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _This message was not meant to be sent to you for at least a few more days. The contents of this letter were meant to enquire about your first week of school and how the children of you institution have been treating you since the revelation that Voldemort in fact had returned. I wanted to send you encouragements to do your best in all your classes, and to continue learning to be a better wizard. I was going to ask how you have been feeling, and remind you to not be so moody all the time. As good at brooding as you are, a smile looks much better on your face than a frown does. If you need any encouragement to smile more, I will tell you that it does not make your eyes look so old._

 _Now, I will get into why I have sent this letter early. Imagine my surprise when I am sitting in Headquarters reading a book on enchanting, and a certain young Auror with pink hair returns with an interesting story. I don't know why I was so shocked, given that we are speaking about you, but I was none too happy about hearing what she had to say. Now, I am not Molly Weasley and I would not stoop to her level and send you a Howler. Might I say, that this Howler you English invented is probably the most British thing I have ever seen. Only you uncultured Englishmen would charm a letter to scream a message at the top of its lungs. Us French would never think of such a thing. But I digress, it took every last bit of self-control and self-respect I have to not send you a Howler. Instead of sending that monstrosity, I will use my words._

 _Must I babysit you for the rest of your life? I leave you alone for not even twenty-four hours and you already find yourself in trouble. I do not know if you have some sort of death wish, but I am telling you right now, Harry Potter, that I will hex it out of you if I must. I know that you refused to give Tonks the full story, but I will not be refused. Once you have finished reading this letter, you_ _ **will**_ _tell me what happened, and you_ _ **will**_ _tell me the truth. You are lucky that the Order has members tailing you, because without Tonks you would not have been rescued. Your broken and bleeding nose would have been the least of your worries if that train had not been searched. I was almost in tears when I heard how she found you, and almost kissed her for saving you. Do not act so foolishly again, or I will ask the Headmaster for permission to curse you within an inch of your life. I feel much better now after writing this all down._

 _In other news, the Order has made some progress in the fight against your Dark Lord. Nobody has seen Remus in weeks, but Dumbledore is certain that he will turn up eventually. Tonks seems particularly sad whenever the man is mentioned, I feel as if she has developed feeling for him. I don't understand why, he is a fairly attractive man if you are into the whole rugged and worn down look, but he is much too sad and self-pitying for my tastes. Perhaps Tonks like those kind of men, and if she does I would watch out Harry, you would be exactly her type. Kingsley and that woman Hestia have been working the Ministry, looking for new recruits, and subtly trying to improve security in the building. William is set to return from his work in Germany at the end of the month._

 _There is not much else for me to say, other than please stay safe. I do not want to have to spend my days worrying over you, and if there is anything you wish to talk about, I am here._

 _Love,_

 _Fleur_

After reading the letter for a second time, Harry released a breath he did not know he was holding. Apparently word of his misadventure spread quickly. Words could not describe how relieved he was at not receiving a Howler, but Fleur's words were angry enough to drive the point home.

Realizing that it would be best to respond to her as soon as possible, Harry pulled out some parchment and ink, and got ready to pen his letter.

 _Dear Fleur,_

 _I apologize for putting you through such a shock yesterday, and I really wish I hadn't. The entire situation was rather embarrassing, and it ended with my nose being painfully fixed by Snape._

 _I guess it would be best to start my story from the beginning. After boarding the train, I chatted to my friend Megan before making my way to my compartment. The compartment was filled with my best friends, all of whom went to the Ministry with me last June. They stood by me and fought with me when Sirius died, and they promised me that they would support me no matter what. It was rather touching, and it still surprises me that my friends think so highly of me._

 _After narrowly escaping a horde of younger witches, all set on taking advantage of me and ruining my virtue, I was given an invitation to join Professor Slughorn in his cabin for lunch. Long story short, I got drunk, he got drunk, and everyone else got drunk as well. Slughorn gave me a potion to sober me up, which it did, but it also had the side effect of slowing my reflexes gradually until I fell asleep. It truly is a perfect potion to use after having a good time, and I would recommend it to anybody who isn't me, or has my luck._ _ **Remember this**_ _._

 _After leaving his compartment I went to go find my friend Susan, who's aunt Amelia had recently been murdered by Voldemort. Me and Susan have pretty much been in the same boat our entire lives, with both of us being raised by relatives after our parents were killed in the last war. The difference being that her aunt loved her, and my aunt… tolerated me at best. What happened between me and Susan is better left unsaid, also because I don't really know what to say about it to begin with._

 _Leaving to go get my stuff packed as we approached the station, I noticed that Draco Malfoy was looking particularly suspicious, and he was carrying a silk bag. I'm sure you know what a silk bag usually contains, especially since you've been working at Gringotts. So I decided to follow. Remember what I said about the potion, well this is where it starts to influence the chain of events. I managed to sneak into their compartment and wanted to eavesdrop of his conversation. The problem is that the potion really slowed me down, and when I was climbing into a good position, the train lurched and I smashed my knee into somebody's school trunk. This is the point where he realizes I'm there, but I don't know that. He then locks the door after everybody leaves, I can barely move because I took that stupid potion and then he attacks me. Eventually he hits me with a petrification hex. It's at this point that he stomps on my face, stuns me, and leaves me on the train._

 _The rest of the story, you've probably heard from Tonks. So that's exactly what happened on my train ride to school yesterday. Completely true, and straight from the source. I realize now how foolish I was, and I would promise not to do something so thoughtless again, but knowing myself I will likely be in another situation like that at some point in the future. Don't worry about me though, I have this uncanny ability to not die in situations like that._

 _I'd like to thank you for all of the information about the Order, people don't usually like telling me things and it really pisses me off. I just feel useless and weak, like I'm not good enough to be told things that others know. I understand the entire war is not about me, but at the same time it is hard to deny the Voldemort is obsessed with me. If people want to limit the number of dumb situations I put myself into, then I think it would be best to give me as much information as possible so that I can make an informed decision. That's partially the reason why Sirius died, because Dumbledore kept vital information from me and I jumped in wand first like always, and led my godfather to his death. It's why no matter what anybody tells me, I will always feel responsible for his death, and it kills me to admit that. But I'll learn to live with it, just like I've learnt to live with all the other shit in my life._

 _Enough about me and all my problems, I know you don't like it when I get all moody. So in order to brighten the mood I'd like to talk about you. Are you excited that Bill's finally returning from work? Does he leave often? Feel free not to answer these questions if you think I'm prying, but I'm just curious because I haven't seen you two together ever. It's hard to picture a couple that you have no visual representation of. I had that issue with my parents. Until I saw them together for the first time, I was never able to picture what they looked like in my mind, it was almost as if they were some abstract concept and never truly existed. How's work going for you besides the Order, because I do realize people have lives outside working for super-secret organizations?_

 _That's about it for now. Tell Gabrielle I'll write her when something a little bit more child appropriate happens in my life, like the Quidditch season or how classes are going or how much I hate Professor Snape. I'll be on the lookout for a Christmas gift and Birthday gift for her._

 _Harry_

Stretching out his hand from all the writing he just did, Harry cast a drying charm on the ink and sealed it in an envelope. Checking the time with a quick _Tempus_ , Harry saw that he had just enough time to run to the Owlery before dinner.

Passing his friends in the common room, he told them not to wait up and that he would meet them in the Great Hall. Technically the Owlery was on the opposite end of the castle from Gryffindor Tower, but a few well-placed hidden passageways behind portraits and tapestries saw the distance greatly reduced. The founder's or one of the earlier headmasters must have designed it that way, Harry mused, as it seemed that there were a lot of passageways that converged on the way to the Owlery.

Almost as if sensing that Harry was approaching, Hedwig fluttered down the stairway and landed on his shoulder. "Hey girl, how have you been doing?" he asked as he continued up the last few steps.

Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip on the ear, before snuggling up against the side of his neck and head.

"I knew you missed me," Harry smiled at his oldest friend, "I know you won't believe this, but I already have a letter for you to deliver. Crazy right?"

Hedwig hooted in anticipation at being given a job to do already, but her amber eyes did have a bit of a questioning look regarding the boy who was notorious for sending very few letters.

"I know I've said this before girl, but I promise you that this year you'll have more work to do. I have a new pen pal, and there is no way that she's going to let me forget to right her. I actually think you'd get along with Fleur very well, or at least Fleur's owl. I don't know which one of you three can be the haughtiest," Harry dodged a cuff of the head that Hedwig swung at him.

"Here it is girl," Harry pulled out his envelope, before shrinking it slightly and tying it to Hedwig's outstretched leg, "she's at Headquarters, so you should know where to find her," Harry scratched Hedwig beneath her beak, before sending her out on her way.

"Talking to your bird again, Potter? And you wonder why people called you crazy last year," a voice came from behind him.

Smiling at his current company, Harry responded, "Dumbledore talks to his Phoenix all the time."

"Potter, that only further proves my point. Albus Dumbledore, as great a wizard as he is, is not renown for being perfectly sane. You just have to look at the outfits he wears, I don't think he has a single article of clothing that doesn't twinkle as much as his eyes."

"Fair point, Daphne, but I'll take being compared to Albus Dumbledore as a compliment," Harry grinned knowing that wasn't what she meant.

"I wasn't comparing you to Du-ughh, I don't know why I chose to talk to you," she huffed in exasperation. "Anyways, I'm happy I ran into you up here, because I'd like to ask you why you lied to me on the train yesterday?" she asked as her owl floated down and landed on her outstretched arm.

"I don't remember lying to you on the train Daphne?" Harry asked confused as to what she was talking about.

Daphne remained silent as she tied her letter and whispered the destination into her owls. She watched it disappear into the horizon, before turning to Harry and raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow, "Did you, or did you not tell me that your defense club was closing down this year?"

"I told you that the D.A. was closing, and I didn't lie to you about that," Harry responded not understanding what she was getting at.

"Then why was it that I saw Finch-Fletchley gasp in pain as he held onto a galleon, before reading it and talking about some sort of meeting happening tonight after dinner. Don't try and deny it, only you would have to resort to such covert methods of communication," she accused.

"I won't deny that we are having a meeting today, but I was being honest when I said that I won't be running it again this year. This meeting is kind of like a wrap-up party, though if the club decides to run without me, I'd be perfectly okay with that."

"Fair enough I suppose, though after being such a resounding success last year I don't see why you would stop," Daphne pointed out, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Too much on my plate this year," Harry answered the same question with the same answer for what felt like the millionth time. "Why, do you want to join?" Harry teased.

"I'd rather not be lynched by the angry mob of Slytherin haters who are staunch members of your little club. What would your followers think if they knew you spent your free time cavorting with dangerous Slytherins like me," she whispered, taking a step closer to Harry, "It would be simply scandalous," she whispered in his ear, before taking a step back.

Seeing the same smirk on Harry's face that had been there for almost the entirety of their conversation, Daphne punched him in the chest, "You're not as fun as you used to be, Potter."

"That trick worked on me the first couple times you used it on me, Daphne. You're going to have to try something new if you want to get a reaction out of me," Harry laughed as he made his way down the Owlery steps, with Daphne a step behind him.

They chatted about their schedules and what they were expecting to encounter in their classes this term. Daphne and Harry noticed that they were sharing almost every single one of their classes this year.

Just as they were about to reach the Great Hall, they separated from one another, in the effort to make it appear as if they had arrived independently from one another. Their strategy worked out well, with the only people who seemed to notice being Blaise and Tracey.

Making his way to the Gryffindor table, Harry felt the eyes of the D.A. members of various houses on his back, but he ignored them as he took a seat between Ron and Hermione. "Sorry guys, did I miss any announcements?" he asked as he started to eat.

"No, Harry, nothing. Who were you sending a letter to, so early in the year?" Hermione asked, though Harry was certain that most of his friends were wondering the same thing.

"I was sending a letter to the Order, telling them what happened yesterday," Harry omitted just who in the Order he was sending the letter to. Technically he wasn't lying.

"What did happen yesterday? You never told us mate," Ron bluntly asked.

He had already told Fleur, and although he knew she wouldn't tell anyone without his permission, he didn't feel the need to keep it secret anymore. Judging by the comments Dumbledore made last night, Harry figured that Dumbledore somehow knew. "I got into a fight with Malfoy on the train. He was looking suspicious, so I followed him and I got caught," he summarized.

"Wait, you let the little ferret beat you?" Ron looked horrified at the thought of Malfoy ever coming out on top over them.

"I got drunk at Slughorn's lunch party. The potion he gave me to sober up makes you really drowsy, I could hardly move," he answered honestly.

"Harry Potter!" Hermione smacked him over the head with a magazine, "You got drunk with a teacher on the way to school?" she looked scandalized. Ron on the other hand thought it was hilarious, Slughorn definitely went up in his books after hearing that story. His laughter earned him a smack with the magazine as well.

"So what did you over hear Malfoy say?" Ron looked incredibly interested.

"Nothing much, honestly. Apparently the Ministry is being super tight lipped about what happened at the Department of Mysteries, and Draco has no idea what happened either. I do think Malfoy has been given a job to do by Voldemort," Harry told them the conclusion he had finally come to over Malfoy's suspicious behaviour.

"Harry, I know we all have our problems with Malfoy, but he's just a student. I don't think He-Who-"

"I'm fairly certain that out of all of us, I would know Voldemort the best," Harry cut off Hermione, causing her to flinch slightly. "Using a student to carry out some plot is right up Voldemort's alley," Harry ignored the fact that his friends still reacted to his name, "I'm not saying Malfoy is a Death Eater, because that would be pretty risky on Voldemort's part, but I still think he's been given a job to do in the school."

"Listen Harry, what you're saying makes sense, but Malfoy is pretty incompetent most of the time, I don't see why You-Know-Who would use him for some important mission," Ron reasoned with Harry, and Harry had to admit his friend had a reasonable point.

"Let me explain," Harry started again, "when we went to Diagon Alley to pick up our supplies, Draco was there with his mum and he ran into me and Fleur. Draco was particularly vicious with his words that day," Harry flinched at the memory of Draco's description of Sirius' death, "he even implied that he was spending time with Bellatrix. And his mom seemed a little bit out of sorts. Then on the train, I see him acting really suspicious holding a silk bag. Your brother is a curse-breaker Ron; you know what I'm getting at."

"Cursed items…" Ron said underneath his breath, "You think Malfoy brought dark artifacts to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know for what purpose, but by the way he was trying to hide the big, there's no doubt in my mind that he did," Harry looked to Hermione to try an convince her of his point.

"It's an interesting theory, Harry…" Hermione's pause told Harry that as much as she wanted to, she just didn't believe his theory. Harry was okay with that, it was just conjecture at this point, but he couldn't ignore the slight pang of disappointment that his best friends didn't trust his intuition.

"I don't blame you for not believing me right away, it's actually good to have conflicting views sometimes. I'm just telling you what I think is going on," Harry supplied, before taking an extra-large slice of treacle tart to make himself feel better. "I'm going to head up to the room right now and set it up," Harry told his friends before getting to his feet and leaving the Great Hall.

Harry hadn't used the grand staircase in quite a while due to the countless number of secret passageways that littered the school, revealed to him by the Marauders Map. He had memorized most them, now relying on the Map only for spotting where students were located on the Hogwarts grounds. Deciding that he wasn't in a rush to get to the Room of Requirement, Harry started to make his way up the moving staircases.

He immediately regretted his decision after waiting almost five minutes for one particularly stubborn staircase to come pick him up. Twice it looked to be coming over only to changed directions at the last second. After just missing another staircase, that moved suspiciously out of the way as Harry approached it, he was just about ready to jump off and start again.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he finally made it to the 7th floor, Harry made his way in the direction of where he knew Barnabus and his trolls were located. About two corridors away from his destination, the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite direction drew his attention. Looking forward, Harry held back the urge to growl as he spotted a familiar head of platinum blonde hair make its way towards him.

"Something to say, Potter?" Malfoy sneered as he passed Harry in the corridor. Harry's hand immediately went to his holly wand, anticipating a fight. Harry was secretly hoping Malfoy would instigate an altercation, he was itching to teach Malfoy a lesson for what happened the evening before.

But rather than trade insults or even mention what happened on the train, Malfoy continued past Harry, not even sparing him another glance.

Feeling slightly disappointed in that Harry did not get to best Malfoy in a duel, Harry continued on his way to the Room of Requirement. Pacing in front of the blank wall three times, Harry focused on re-creating the room that the D.A. had practiced in for most of last year. Seconds later, a door materialized and he found the room to look exactly how he remembered it.

Walking through the wide open space, Harry made his way past a set of duelling dummies, fake wands erect, looking as if they were about to send out a barrage of spells that they had preloaded into them upon creation. He remembered one of the first times he came to the room to test them out on his own. It had been a shock when in the blink of an eye he went from laughing at the wooden constructs, to losing his wand, to waking up fifteen minutes later as the effects of the stunning spell wore off him. He was particularly happy that nobody was there to witness that.

It had taken weeks of practice, but by the end of last year, Harry could confidently take on several dummies at once with relative ease. The disadvantage of the duelling dummies was that they lacked the tactical mind of real human, but at the same time they made up for this in how they could repeatedly send spells without requiring breaking their chain. They were a tricky tool to fine-tune an individuals duelling, and most would find themselves incapable of handling their high rate of fire and magical strength.

Taking the first book off of one of the shelves that lined the far side of the hidden room, Harry sat himself down in a comfortable leather seat. Harry passed his time reading about the various techniques on spell identification in a duel. He found the material to be rather basic, but it could be of use to some of the members of the D.A.

As time ticked on, and Harry started looking through a few texts that were more advanced, he heard the door leading into the room open and voices start to file in. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he felt the familiar feeling of an egg being cracked on his head, essentially hiding him from the slowly filling room.

Several minutes after the door closed for the final time, Harry cancelled his charm and made his way towards the rest of the D.A. "Hi guys, it's good to see that all of you made it out today," Harry greeted the assembled witches and wizards, who almost immediately quieted at his voice and looked confused as to where he came from.

Harry saw a lot of familiar faces, and some new ones as well. Harry spotted Ritchie Coote, and Jimmie Peakes from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Ginny's friend Demelza Robbins. Harry was certain that he spotted a few new Hufflepuffs, including one 7th year, Summerby, who replaced Cedric as seeker. Looking at the Ravenclaws he spotted a young brunette with icy blue eyes, and frowned feeling something familiar about her.

"I see we've done some recruiting since we last met, I also see that we have lost quite a few members. Some graduated, others made quite the display of not doing so," Harry got a few laughs at the memory of the Weasley twins grand exit, "and others are no longer here for less honorable reasons," Harry saw Cho Chang shift awkwardly. He felt pity towards the girl, but he reckoned it was her fault for not picking better friends. However, the memory of the Marauders and Peter Pettigrew came to mind and he remembered that sometimes it was difficult to know the true nature of your friends until it was too late.

"I just want to let everyone know that you are all welcome here, and that we don't turn anyone away. The D.A. was initially formed as a way to teach defense and to rebel against Umbridge," a few cheers rang through the room at that, "but it is so much more than that now. The world knows that Voldemort's back," some yelped at the name.

Harry took a calming breath before continuing his speech, "I know a lot of you did not believe me last year, I am not a petty person, I am not here to rub it in your face and say 'I told you so.' I wish I had been lying, I wish that everything I have gone through these last two years was some bid to seek attention like the Ministry said. But I wasn't. He's back, war is coming, and he's more powerful than he was last time around."

The room was deathly silent.

"The D.A. has evolved to a new purpose. That purpose is to survive. I don't care how you do it, what tactics, methods, or spells you use, but the most important thing is that we make sure that we survive. Just like Luna told me on the train, the D.A. is a family, and family protects each other with everything they has been tearing families apart for decades. People make a big deal out of how Voldemort killed my parents because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. The sad thing is that I'm not the only one who's life was ruined as a baby. There are people here in this room, whose parents fought for what they believed in, and they died protecting those they loved," Harry looked to both Susan and Neville. Susan was doing her best to hold back her tears, while Neville's face was as hard as stone.

"I know you all want to know what happened at the Ministry that night. You don't need to deny it. I don't blame you for being curious. The details of that night aren't important, what is important is the consequences of that night. I travelled to the ministry last June accompanied by five others, and I am inviting them to come speak about their experiences to give you an idea of what it is truly like out there," Harry stepped to the side so that his friends could come up and say a few words.

Nobody moved at first, but then Neville stepped forward, forever brave at heart. "I went with Harry to the Ministry in June, and it was the single most terrifying experience of my life," Neville started uncertainly but his voice gained strength as he continued on, "Being in Gryffindor with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I heard about all the adventures they have gone on over the years. Hearing them second hand and being so close to them, made them seem so fun and harmless, and I would sometimes sit in bed and wish that I could go along on just once, to prove that I deserved to be sorted into Gryffindor. That night in the Ministry flipped my mindset. I now sit in bed wishing that I will never have to go on another adventure again. I can't even count the amount of times I nearly died that night. Had I a stood half an inch to one side or moved just a little bit slower, I would be buried in the Longbottom family crypts. I faced the Lestranges, the people who tortured my family, and tortured me as well, and I was nothing compared to them. But that doesn't mean I won't face them again if I need to."

As Neville stepped down, Ron stood up, "Harry's been my best mate since I first met him on the train in our first year. I've made a lot of mistakes as his friend, been jealous of things beyond his control, and nearly abandoned him when he needed me most. I saw going to the Ministry with him as the way for me to prove that I was worthy to be Harry Potter's best mate. I went there, stood beside him, fought beside him, and almost died beside him. I was injured in the Ministry, and that injury saved my life. Had I been in the thick of it like Harry was, and not completely loopy because of some squid-brain-thing stuck to my head, I probably would not have survived. But still, I'll always have my best mates back no matter what the odds."

Hermione spoke up, "Harry was the first friend I ever had. I didn't have the best childhood and it made it hard to relate to other people, I think a lot of you saw that in me when I first came to Hogwarts. When my bestfriend told me that he was willingly confronting the man who murdered his parents, everything in my logic oriented brain told me not to go. But logic is nothing compared to the love a person has for their friends, so I went with him despite my concerns. I was hit by a curse Anton Dolohov invented. In that moment where I thought I was going to die, none of the hundreds of books and spells I memorized did me any good. I was completely helpless. However, helpless does not mean hopeless, and as long as we fight for what is right, there is always hope."

"Harry Potter was the first person to treat me like a normal person," Luna's etherial voice floated across the silent room. "I met him on the train while reading daddy's magazine, and even though I know he thought it was a little odd, he still talked to me and tried to understand. He's never called me Loony, and I know he doesn't want to admit it but he believes in Wrackspurts and Nargles just like me. Harry doesn't like being called crazy, he's rather sensitive about that. At the Ministry one of the Death Eaters stunned me, but he very easily could have used a different spell to kill me. I wasn't afraid to die, because I know that I would see my mother again, but I don't think she would have liked that very much."

Ginny was the last one to step up, "Harry saved me in the Chamber of Secrets. I was just a weird girl who couldn't even talk to him without squeaking or blushing, yet he still went down there and risked his life for me. I went to the Ministry and risked my life for him, and just like in the Chamber I almost died. I broke my ankle before being stunned, but I very easily could have been more seriously injured. It wasn't any particular life debt that made me go to the Ministry that night, but because I knew that Harry would do the same for me."

After his friends had finished speaking, Harry moved to the front again, fighting the sudden wetness to his eyes, before concluding his speech, "I want everyone to take this war seriously, it isn't a joke, and the enemy is not playing around. I care about each and every one of you, regardless of how well I know you. I want you all to survive and have families of your own one day, and if the D.A. can help you do that, then all the better for it.

Now I know you all came here expecting us to pick up from where we left off last year, and I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we are not," murmurs started to break out across the room, "We will be practicing spells and looking at more advanced ways of defending ourselves, but I won't be teaching. The D.A. was never about me," Harry raised his voice to be heard above the crowd, "the D.A. was always about you. It is my greatest hope that through the D.A., all of you will push each other and come to rely on each other, and develop into the great wizards and witches I know you all have the potential to be. With that... I'd like to announce that I'm stepping back from the D.A. and won't be teaching you all this year," and just like that chaos erupted.

A sole voice could be heard above the complaints and questions of the other students, "So that's it, Potter? Are you just giving up? You just gave us a speech talking about how dangerous it is out there and how much you care about us, and now you're just leaving us on our own?"

"What do you want Smith?" Harry's voice dropped dangerously.

"What do I want? I want you to teach us how to fight just like you did last year. It's your job, you're the Cho-"

"It's not my job Smith, I chose to teach you all last year, just like I'm choosing to step down this year. Just because the Prophet labels me as the Chosen One doesn't mean I have to do whatever it is you, or they, or anyone want me to do. I have my own personal issues I have to deal with. I would love to continue teaching the D.A. this year, but I can't."

"Why can't you!" Zacharias Smith screamed.

"What do you want Smith?" Harry asked again, his temper boiling.

"I told you want I want, I want you to teach us how to fight!"

"Why do you want to fight? Don't lie to me, I want the truth. Tell me why you want to fight so bad," Harry ordered the Hufflepuff 6th year.

"Fine, you want the truth Potter, I'll tell you! My reasons for fighting aren't as heroic and honest as yours, I'm not fighting because I'm brave, or honest, or kind, I want to fight because Voldemort wronged my family. He stole from us. Years ago I had a great aunt called Hepzibah who mysteriously died. When she died, one of our family heirlooms went missing. During the last war, rumours started to spread about how Voldemort found Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. My family is a direct descendant of Hufflepuff, and that cup was what was stolen from us. For all the muggleborns in the room, what Voldemort did to my family was an affront to our ancestry. He declared war on my family, and I will not abandon my heritage by idly sitting by! No self-respecting Smith would."

The room was silent at his declaration.

"I'm not here to judge your reason to want to fight. Hell, I'm just glad that you've decided to fight with us and not against us. But understand this, Smith, if what you are looking for is vengeance, it will be hard to get. Is your quest to try and take out some Death Eaters really worth dying a pointless death? Because let me tell you, that is exactly what will happen if you try to take on a Death Eater directly. They are fully trained wizards and witches who have been under Voldemort's command for years, in a fair fight you would hardly last a minute. You just heard five of my closest friends tell you how close they all came to dying when they tried to fight Death Eaters at the Ministry.

Take your rage, Smith, and your need to fight, and use it to fuel your own development. I don't have the time to individually train each and every one of you, I can't snap my fingers and make you a better wizard, but I am telling you that if you put the work in and _believe_ that we might just win this war, then maybe you won't die."

Turning away from Zacharias, and looking around, Harry willed the room to create a set of duelling dummies, as well as a duelling pit. "Now does anybody have anything else to say?" the room remained perfectly silent, and Harry spied looks of fear on a few faces. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach at the fact that he used Voldemort's tactics of fear and intimidation to control the room, Harry looked to move to the main purpose of D.A. meetings, "we have a couple more hours before curfew, how about we get some work done," Harry announced, getting a cheer out of the D.A. It was obvious they were relieved that they would be practicing spells and not getting yelled at by Harry.

It took a good fifteen minutes before the tension in the air disappeared, but soon enough the D.A. resumed as normal. Spells were shooting across the room, wands were flying, bodies were falling, laughs echoed across the walls, it was beautiful to watch. His heart ached over the fact that he wouldn't regularly experience this with his friends, but his work with Dumbledore was of the outmost importance. He would cherish his memories in this room for the rest of his life. The D.A. really was a family, it never ceased to amaze him just how wise Luna Lovegood could be sometimes.

Harry spotted Zacharias working with Justin Finch-Fletchley across the room, a determined scowl was painted on his face. Harry could practically feel the fire roaring within the boy, and knew that the Hufflepuff would cease to be a problem. His relationship with Zacharias had always been tense, but the argument they just had seemed to clear the air between the two boys, and Harry considered that a good thing.

Ron and Hermione were paired together, trading spells and looking as if they were having the time of their lives. Ginny was rapidly shooting stinging hexes at Luna, who dodged gracefully between them all with a dreamy smile that never left her face. Neville was duelling both Dean and Seamus at the same time, while Hannah Abbott watched the boy with a flushed complexion. It was only a matter of time before those two got together, if they hadn't already.

Ernie and Terry were rolling on the floor in tears, as Michael Corner tried to undo a complex looking transfiguration put on him by the Patil twins. Taking pity on the poor boy who resembled an absurdly large Cornish Pixie, Harry waved his wand and returned the boy to normal. Even Cho Chang, who must have felt quite awkward due to her friendship with Marietta, found a partner in Katie Bell. Katie had about the largest heart Harry had ever seen, and it didn't take long for her to get Cho to settle down and have some fun.

Looking at the far corner of the room, Harry spotted Coote and Peakes tied up together in ropes, and the familiar looking brunette standing over top of them in victory. With a flick of his wand, Harry dispelled the conjured ropes, freeing the Gryffindor beaters. "That's pretty impressive taking the two of them out like that," Harry commented to the girl.

"They weren't much of a challenge," she said simply, "they probably would have taken each other out before me."

Looking at the two boys who were now wrestling each other on the floor, Harry couldn't help but agree.

Harry felt the magic around him shift, and instinctually ducked out of the way of a spell that came whizzing over his head. Turning around sharply, Harry saw the brunette girl with her wand out, and a competitive gleam in her eyes. She then sent out two stunners in rapid succession, that Harry dodged easily.

Raising his eyebrow at the ambitious girl, Harry drew his wand and kept it lightly by his side, inviting the girl to try again.

The girl took this as a challenge and sent a piercing and binding curse at him, followed by a banishing hex, and then conjured flame. It was an interesting strategy, forcing him to dodge the first spells before sending out a pair wide area spells that couldn't be physically dodged. Clearly she had either read books on advanced duelling techniques or received some sort of tutoring on duelling strategy.

After stepping between the first two spells, Harry deflected the banishing hex into the nearby wall, and silently flicked his wand to raise a shield. As he did this he slowly approached the girl without breaking stride. With surprise in her icy blue eyes, and before the young brunette could even lift her wand to respond, Harry sent a confundus charm with the intent of convincing her to drop her wand, and a paralysis hex at her. They both hit, and Harry approached the still girl before summoning the wand into his hand.

"Pretty good for a young girl," Harry teased, "I think you might be able to beat Hannah or Ernie in a duel, and you'd certainly have an interesting match with Ginny. Both of you seem to like sending out powerful offensive spells," he dispelled the hex before handing back the girl's wand.

As Harry walked away to go observe the Creevey brothers, the young girl called out to him, "I'm Astoria Greengrass by the way."

That caught Harry's attention, as he slowly made his way back to the younger Greengrass sibling. Looking at her with penetrating eyes, he saw the young girl blush and shift nervously. Being Daphne's sister explained the familiar aura he felt about her, and her icy blue eyes could only belong to a member of the Greengrass family.

"If Daphne really wanted to know what goes on here, she could have come herself. I did tell her that when I saw her before dinner," Harry informed Astoria. Daphne was a very frustrating person, who was too proud for her own good. Harry didn't know how he felt about her using her own sister to gather information.

"I'm not here because Daphne told me to come, I am my own person thank you very much," the girl, Astoria, looked rightfully incensed. It turned out Daphne didn't use her sister, and that made Harry feel better. "Last year I wanted to join, but Daphne wouldn't let me, she said Umbridge was too dangerous to provoke. I wanted to go anyways, but every person that I asked refused to tell me anything. I think it was because I am a Greengrass," she said bitterly.

"That's too bad, you would have been welcome here regardless of your family. But I think your sister had the right of it when she told you not to join last year. Umbridge was an evil woman who would have taken out her hatred towards me on anyone unfortunate to be associated with me. I'm happy I didn't put you in a position where you could have gotten hurt. You were safe from her last year, and that's what is most important."

"Daphne told me that she tortured you," Astoria said without thinking, blushing at her mistake, "I'm sorry… I uh, shouldn't have said that. Please don't tell my sister I told you that."

Harry was shocked that Daphne knew what happened to him, her ability at finding out information that she should have no right of knowing always astounded him. "Your sister was right…" Harry paused as he pulled back the sleeve of his robe, "I had detention with her for an entire week, and she made me use a blood quill until this message sunk into my hand," Harry showed her his scar. "This is why I'm glad you didn't join last year; I wouldn't wish this onto anyone."

The young girl ran her fingers overtop of his scarred hand.

Harry rather liked the young Greengrass girl and felt like revealing some information, "I haven't announced this yet, but my friends are going to continue to run the D.A., so feel free to stop by whenever you want. I'll even get Hermione to make you one of the coins," the girls eyes glittered with excitement upon hearing that.

"I have to go and end the meeting now, so I hope you had a good time, Astoria. Also, the next time you see your sister, tell her to stay away from my secrets. Some of them will put her in more danger than she could handle," the girl gave him quick nod, still clearly very happy at being inducted into the D.A.

Standing in the middle of the Room of Requirement, Harry placed his wand beside his throat before speaking, "I know we all what to continue long into the night, but curfew is approaching and we should call it here. Classes start tomorrow, so I hope everyone gets a good night's rest and has a good start of the year. I'd like to pass on my deepest sympathy in advance to anyone who has Snape for defense first," laughter broke out between the D.A., except those who's schedule actually had them with Professor Snape the next morning, "may your souls forever rest in peace."

"Now before we all go; I'd like to thank everyone for coming. I would also like to apologize one last time for stepping down. I personally think the D.A. should continue to run in my absence, as such Hermione has taken it upon herself to organize the best times to hold meetings. Feel free to talk to her outside and she'll try to come up with a schedule that is best for everyone. If you are new and are planning on inviting a few friends, talk to her as well and she'll find a way for you all to communicate. I think that is all, so have a good night!"

The crowd of students slowly dispersed and made their way back to their common rooms. Some hung around longer than others, but after ten minutes or so, only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny remained. That was until he spotted Susan lingering by the door, pretending to read a particularly thick text on rudimentary curses and jinxes. Knowing that she was waiting to talk to him, Harry waved his friends on, getting curious looks from the three of them.

As the door closed and only Susan remained, Harry suddenly felt quite nervous. He was getting flashbacks to the last time he was alone in the Room of Requirement with a girl, and the memory of his first kiss with Cho Chang was definitely not something he wanted to be thinking about in this moment. Especially given how his last encounter with Susan went the day before.

Harry couldn't speak. His tongue was tied, his palms were sweating, his stomach was flipping around, and his mind was awhirl.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday," Susan broke the silence, "I think something should be said about what happened."

The guilt Harry had felt after leaving her compartment came back with a vengeance. "Listen Susan, I'm sorry for taking adva-"

"You did no such thing, Harry," Susan cut off his apology, showing a feisty side that he didn't know she had, "if anything I took advantage of you, Harry. I jumped on you, I cried on you, and I kissed you. I instigated it, and I'm sorry for putting you in that position."

"Listen Su," Harry used the pet name for her again, "we were both hurting in that moment, we've both gone through so much, I think we were just looking for something to hold on to."

"I know Harry, that's exactly what we did…" she paused as if thinking over what she as going to say next, "You have no idea how much I wanted to do what we did," she said bluntly, shocking Harry, "Kissing you Harry was the best thing I have ever experienced, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I like you, Harry, I've like you for a long time. If you asked Hannah why I didn't take anyone to the Yule ball, she'd tell you it was because you were the only person I wanted to go with. Last year at the D.A. practices, I spent half the sessions staring at you, hoping that you'd come by and correct whatever I was doing wrong."

Harry blushed at her declaration of her feelings and decided to speak up, "I liked what we did too Susan. There was so much passion, energy, emotion, it just felt right to me. But, I don't know if that's because we were comforting each other, or if it was because of any feelings between us. Merlin, Susan, I think you're bloody gorgeous, any guy wold be lucky to have you. If I could go back in time, I'd smack myself in the face a few times and scream at him to go take you to the ball. I've just been so much of a mess lately; I don't really know what is going on."

"If I thought it was a good idea right now, I'd snog you senseless. I don't know if you realize this Harry, but I was ready to go all the way yesterday. If that announcement didn't interrupt what we were doing, I would have given myself to you. I wanted to have sex with you. There's nothing I want more in the world than to be beside you Harry, I want to be your girlfriend, and I think that I would be good for you. But I don't think now is the right time.

We're both hurting, we've both lost the most important figures in our life, and our emotions are all over the place. I don't want either of us to make a mistake and regret it for the rest of our lives, or ruin something good that could have happened. If I'm going to be with you, which is something I want, it has to be when we both know exactly what we are getting ourselves into and we know exactly what our feelings are for each other. I'm willing to wait, Harry, in the hope that something good can come out of it. I hope you're willing to wait as well if you feel what I think you feel for me, if not then I hope we can remain friends," she finished, looking at Harry with tears in her eyes.

"I think that is for the best, Susan. What we did on the train wasn't the start of a healthy relationship. I wish I could give you an answer on my feelings and what I want in the future, but I honestly don't know how I feel about anything right now. My life has never been easy, and emotions are something I was never really good at understanding. I'm only asking for you to be patient with me as I learn to figure myself out."

After Harry's declaration, Susan took a half step forward into Harry. Delicately placing a hand on his chest, Harry's breath halted in his chest. Not a second later, he found himself kissing Susan Bones for the second time in two days. This time around, their kiss was less passionate and less desperate. It was a sad kiss filled with emotion, promising what could be. But Harry in that moment realized that the kiss symbolized what would never be again. He wasn't good for her right now, and by the time the war ended he'd either be dead or too damaged to be what she wanted him to be.

Breaking apart slowly and staring into each other's eyes, Susan tilted her head sideways and kissed Harry on the cheek before leaving him on his own in the Room of Requirement. Standing there in silence, Harry came to the realization that Susan Bones was an incredible human being. He only hoped that he would be forever be able to call her a good friend, and that she would one day forgive his decision.

 **AN**

 **Surprise! A really fast update despite me saying that there wouldn't be another one for weeks! I found a little bit of extra time to write, and this chapter came** **pretty naturally to me.**

 **I feel as if now would be a good time to answer a few of the lengthier reviews I received (which I greatly appreciate). I recommend reading them as I will be covering some of the major questions I have seen about the fic in them:**

 **The first thing I wanted to address since I've seen this a few times is that I acknowledge that Megan Jones is a Hufflepuff. However in this fic, I picture her to be in Ravenclaw and the role she plays in this story is better suited with her in Ravenclaw. I apologize for not explaining this minor detail earlier.**

 **CapriSunnyD: I understand your point with the Fleur/Harry pairing in the description. Last chapter, I was only trying to explain my thought process in regards to the story at that point, but in hindsight I should have kept it too myself. Their 100% will be Fleur/Harry in this story, I promise that there will be no letdown, and the final pairing has not changed.**

 **Depositaire: Thank you for you in-depth and lengthy review, I love it when I receive these types of reviews (though I love all reviews equally like a mother does her children). I'm happy that you enjoy the fact that I am keeping a relatively Canon tone to the story, that won't change as it slowly deviates into AU territory. Although I enjoy a good bashing fic every once in a while (guilty pleasure), I do try my best to limit that sort of thing in everything I write. Who doesn't love well developed, realistic characters. The relationship between Harry and Fleur will continue to develop over the course of the story, and as I mentioned above, their will be Harry/Fleur in this story. I promise you that there will be very little politics in this story, my other fic is more politically oriented.**

 **Smutley Do-Wrong: I noticed you had some concerns about what happened between Susan and Harry on the train, and you thought it was a random bit of smut. My intention was not to make a smut scene just for the fun of it. Throughout most of Canon Harry Potter, we only see how the war affects Harry. What I am trying to show in this fic (starting with Susan) is that the affects of this war and the last are still felt by many across Britain. Susan was in a dark place on the train, just as Harry was over the summer, and in a moment of madness they did a stupid thing without thinking. However, as I showed in this chapter, not everyone is an immature idiot in my story. Susan and Harry have matured greatly as a result of their life experiences, and I showed that with how they handled that last scene. Thank you for you long review! Oh, and the potion slowing down Harry was meant to imply that the only way Malfoy could best Harry in a situation like that would be if he was handicapped in some way. Harry in this story is quite powerful, as you will see as the story progresses.**

 **Let me know what you thought about this chapter! I love reviews, I love reading them, and the more I get the merrier I am. One of the reasons I updated this story over my other one, is the fact that the last chapter was so well received and the reviews gave me the inspiration to get another chapter out ASAP.**

 **Thank you all! Until next time.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Will you two get up already!" A voice filtered into Harry's sleep addled mind.

There was a hard pounding on the door that followed the rather shrill voice, before it continued to call out again.

A loud groan erupted from Harry's right, as he leaned over to pick up his glasses. With the world coming into its usual focus, Harry was met with the sight of what possibly could be the worst case of bedhead he had ever seen, which was saying something considering the usual state of his own hair.

"Blimey mate! Isn't there a silencing charm on all the dorm doors?" Ron groaned as he flopped out of bed and landed on the floor with a loud _smack_.

"I don't think the founders had Hermione in mind when they first put them up," Harry laughed as he set about getting ready for the morning.

"I know you two are in there, I can hear you! Neville left twenty minutes ago with Dean and Seamus! I will not be late for my first NEWT class!" the same voice called out.

"Remind me again why she's allowed to make her way up to our room, but if we so much as breathe on the girls' staircase, an alarm goes off and the bloody ICW is called for our crimes against wizardkind…" Ron muttered as he riffled through his trunk looking for the least wrinkled robe of the bunch.

"Trust me Ron, most other boys are not complaining about that little loophole," Harry eyed his friend, knowing that they were both thinking back to the memory of walking in on Seamus and Parvati last year. Harry couldn't help but mentally kick himself at the way he treated Parvati at the Yule Ball, especially after seeing her flexibility first hand, he wished he had shown her a better time that night. Not to mention she had a twin.

"Yeah, but most other boys aren't best friends with Hermione bloody Granger," Ron brought Harry's mind out of the gutter.

"I am going to walk into this room in five seconds no matter what state of dress you two are on in! We are going to miss breakfast at this rate!" Hermione's voice sounded even more agitated than before.

The word 'breakfast' seemed to snap Ron to attention, with his primal urge for food overpowering his need to laze around some more. "She's got a point you know; I'll be needing a good breakfast before potions. Didn't eat as much as I would like to last night, and I blame you for that."

Harry's lip twitched in amusement as he raised his hands to placate his friend. "Well just don't eat too much this morning, potion fumes and a full stomach don't go very well together."

Opening the door and exiting their dorm, the two friends were met with a withering glare from Hermione. Arms crossed over her chest, book bag slung over her shoulder, and foot tapping impatiently on the ground, Harry could tell she wasn't impressed with them in that moment.

"Do you have any idea how long I have waited for both of you? Classes start in fifteen minutes, and I won't be coming late and making a poor first impression on Professor Slughorn. I have only heard good things about him, and if I miss out on anything because you-"

"Relax Hermione, we'll make it on time. Besides, apparently Slughorn loves Harry, and us being his best mates means he will love us too," Ron gave Harry a grin at which Harry just rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't work like that Ronald, besides I don't think a professor, particularly one of Professor Slughorn's calibre would stoop so low as to pick out favorites."

Harry fought back a laugh, only for it come out as half a snort and half a cough.

"What was that Harry?" Hermione turned her head to look at Harry who was trailing slightly behind his two friends as they exited behind a portrait of former Minister Lufkin.

"Nothing, nothing, err… just picked up a bit of dust in my mouth while yawning," Hermione gave him a suspicious look, obviously not buying his lie.

"I don't see any reason why either of you should be yawning. It's a proven theory that spell casting both magically and physically exhausts the body, and the D.A. meeting last night was rather intense, but that does not excuse how you both slept over ten hours!"

"Oh come off it already Hermione, we heard you the first time," Ron complained, "we just wanted to get one last good bit of rest in before classes started. You're the one always telling us how busy NEWT year is, and after taking our OWLs last year, I know that I won't be getting any more than eight hours at the most. You can't blame a bloke for that, right Harry?"

Harry absentmindedly nodded along, his mind elsewhere. He hadn't gotten much sleep that evening. The nightmares played a major role in that, but thoughts of what Draco was planning, and what he would need to tell Susan plagued him as well. His troubles never seemed to stop piling up.

"Eight hours is more than enough to begin with, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes. The bickering between the two would have continued had they not arrived at the Great Hall that moment. Not wanting to waste any more time, the two boys quickly piled food onto their plates and tucked in. Harry stuck to a moderate amount of food as usual, but Ron looked like a man possessed, more than making up for the food he missed out the evening before.

"Harry!" a familiar voice caught Harry's attention as he put down his goblet of pumpkin juice, "I did not have the chance to talk to you last night, so I figured I would catch up with you before potions this morning. You are in potions aren't you?" But before Harry could so much as answer the question, the Hufflepuff boy continued on, "Of course you are! Good old Snape couldn't hold you back forever!" he slapped Harry on the back in a good natured, but slightly over exaggerated manner.

"Hi Ernie," Harry smiled, "it's good to see you," he greeted honestly. Despite Ernie's pompous manner, Harry quite liked the brown haired Hufflepuff. Despite coming from a well-known Pureblood family, Ernie had the tendency to fly below the radar. As a result of his upbringing, he strutted around the castle in a way similar to Malfoy, which put off some of the muggleborns and muggle raised Halfbloods. His placement in Hufflepuff was another cause for people to underestimate him, but Harry knew better. One good look into his sharp brown eyes, and a person could see the intelligence lurking beneath them.

"It's best if we head down now, don't want to be late. Professor Slughorn is no Snape, but he still takes his Potions class very seriously. Good man that Slughorn, an utter genius, married my great aunt once upon a time, terrible tragedy what happened to them, absolutely terrible. But enough about the past, let's focus on the present, I'd say Hermione would agree with me," Harry looked over at Hermione only to see her recasting the _Tempus_ charm for the seventh time in under a minute.

"I don't know about you guys, but today feels like it's going to be a good day," Ron announced as he stood up and patted his stomach, "Did the school get new house elves, because I swear to Merlin that breakfast was never this good before?" Ron grinned, ignoring Hermione's irritated twitch at the mention of house elves working in the kitchens, she might have given up S.P.E.W. in name, but never in spirit.

"Ron, one day you're going to wake up as large as Slughorn," Harry laughed at the mental image of a circular Ron.

"And what a joyous day that will be, then everyone will finally stop questioning my appetite," Ron playfully shot back.

"Make the most of it while you can Weasley, Merlin knows your family is too poor to buy any real food. Although… I have always wondered if it's your appetite that makes your family so poor," a familiar drawl came from the other end of the dungeon corridor as Malfoy appeared with Nott and Daphne.

"Oi shut it Malfoy, before I make you," Ron's face turned red with what Harry figured was both rage and embarrassment.

"I'm sure it would be a humorous attempt."

"I wouldn't be so sure Malfoy," Ron spat, "Tell me, does daddy like his new accommodations?"

This time it was Draco who turned pink. Harry could see the veins bulging in Malfoy's neck, and he slipped his hand around his wand waiting for the first curse to fly. But it never came. It looked as if Malfoy was fighting against himself. His fist was clenched, his brow was furrowed, and his grey eyes were unfocused for a moment, before his expression cleared. _Draco knew Occlumency_ , realization dawned upon Harry. When had Draco learnt it? Who taught him? Questions over this revelation were shooting through his mind, but most important to Harry, why did Draco need to become an Occlumens?

"You shouldn't let him get to you so easily, Ron," Hermione whispered.

"I know Hermione! But he's a bloody git, and he deserves it!" Ron shot back harshly, causing Hermione to flinch at the violent tone directed at her. Hurt flashed through her eyes as she unconsciously took a step back, but Ron was in too hot a mood to notice.

"A terrible show on Draco's part. He's acted a ponce ever since we've been children, and has never been able to act with any sort of tact. Say what you will about Lucius Malfoy, but at least he was able to play the role of the gentleman when needed," Ernie chimed in.

"You've known Malfoy since you were children?" Harry asked interestedly, shooting a quick look over his shoulder to where Malfoy was busy whispering to Daphne and Nott.

"Oh yes, I had my fair share of visits to the manor. He was spoilt and arrogant back then as well, but at least he was palatable at times and we were capable of getting along."

"You were friends with Malfoy?" Malfoy and the word _friend_ , were two things he had never thought would come from… well anyone.

"Well I would say it depends on what context you are looking at our childhood relationship. If you were to look at it through the lens of a muggleborn then I would say no. However, through the perspective of a pureblood, I would say yes. Not good friends mind you, but friendly enough," Ernie explained to Harry.

"It doesn't look like you two are very friendly now," Harry pointed out.

"Oh, not at all. Me and Draco are simply neutral to one another. I believe he deemed me unworthy of any sort of contact the moment I was sorted into Hufflepuff. A bit of a blessing in disguise if you ask me," Ernie joked as he readjusted his school bag, "Draco has always been the lonely sort. The only reason any children were in contact with him before Hogwarts was for the purpose of his father building connections."

"Well he hasn't done himself any favours over the years, Ron was about half a second away from cursing him."

"That's no surprise, Weasley's and Malfoy's have always been a volatile mixture when put together," Ernie laughed.

"Oh ho ho, it warms my heart to see such eager students," the jovial sound of Slughorn's voice boomed throughout the dungeon. "Already discussing potions before class has even begun, Harry? I really should not be surprised, and you to Ernie, I'm glad to see that you carry the same penchant for potions that your aunt did. I promise you will not be disappointed. We will be seeing a number of _volatile mixtures_ over the course of this year."

Harry and Ernie quickly exchanged a glance and fought to keep identical smirks off their faces.

"Now!" Slughorn exclaimed as he whirled around to the rest of the 6th year students, his rounded belly shaking with him, "I have left a few potions out to simmer in the middle of the classroom, please do not touch them, simply take a seat at one of the tables surrounding them. I always like to start my first lesson with something fun," he finished as he unlocked the classroom.

As the students filed in, Harry thought he heard a few groans. The groans grew louder as he approached the open door with his friends, and they were soon joined by the sound of coughing and gasps for air. The reasoning behind the noises became apparent to Harry after taking a step inside Slughorn's classroom. The dungeon was filled with mists and vapours of all different colors, as well as an odd assortment of scents, none of which were particularly pleasant.

Interestingly enough, the wave of odd sensations and magic that assaulted the assembled students, looked to have different effects on everyone. Theodore Nott was coughing so hard it looked like he had Dragon Lung, Daphne tried to maintain a straight face but her watering eyes gave her away, while Draco looked completely unfazed.

In front of Harry, Ernie was trying to maintain as much dignity as possible by covering his nose and mouth with an embroidered Hufflepuff handkerchief. Looking to the side, Terry Boot was grinning like a loon and looked to be in a state of euphoria, which was a stark contrast to Lisa Turpin beside him, who looked as green as gillyweed.

Seeing Lisa triggered something in the back of Harry's mind, as he dove to the floor quickly, taking down Ernie and Hermione with him. It was a good thing he did, as not even a second later Ron vomited all over the spot they had previously occupied.

"Merlin's beard boy!" Slughorn exclaimed, just as Harry looked through his now cracked glasses and spotted the contents of Ron's stomach sitting inches to his left. "It seems that in my years of retirement I have forgotten the effect that this particular lesson has on some of my students," Slughorn's face appeared apologetic, but the amusement in his voice betrayed the fact that he clearly did not forget.

Being sure to steer clear of the mess on the floor, Harry picked himself up before helping Hermione and Ernie do the same.

"Good show Harry!" Ernie slapped him on the back in thanks, "Reflexes as sharp as always. But that's no surprise for us old hat's, I've been to enough Quidditch matches and D.A. meetings to think any differently."

Hermione was off to the side muttering about a 'stupid redhead' and their 'never ending pit of a stomach.'

"You there, Miss… Turpin, you're looking rather green yourself. Could you escort…" Slughorn paused as Ron wretched into an old cauldron, "Mister Weasley here to the Hospital Wing, I'm sure you both would do well with something to settle your stomachs."

Almost as if sensing the hesitance in the slim Ravenclaw, Slughorn added, "Do not fret Miss Turpin, I will not be assigning any homework at the end of class. As I said before, today is just a little bit of fun!" he chuckled, clutching his belly, clearly enjoying himself.

With that proclamation, all of her reservations disappeared, and she raced over to Ron looking like she might need to share his cauldron.

"One more thing!" Slughorn called out, just as the pair were about to leave the classroom, "you may leave that… cauldron with Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary, I won't be needing it back," he finished, earning a few laughs from the remaining students.

Taking advantage of the empty space at the Ravenclaw table, Ernie and Hermione crammed in beside Terry Boot and Sue Li, their scales and potions kit ringing as they were unloaded onto the table.

Noticing the lack of space, and not wanting to sit at a table on his own, Harry reluctantly made his way to the Slytherin table. Doing his best to ignore Malfoy and the stare from Nott, Harry silently pulled out his potions equipment from last year, hoping it would be enough for the first class. As he was arranging his silver knives on a piece of enchanted cleaning cloth, a sharp poke to his ribs caught his attention.

Turning his head to the right, Harry spotted the auburn tip of a wand poking through a small opening in the side of green trimmed robes, just as a wave of magic washed over his head. Harry flinched violently as the foreign magic invaded his system before quickly disappearing. The magic itself was not malevolent in nature, nor was it benevolent. It was neutral, but not in an unpleasant way, in fact he found it oddly refreshing. Despite this, the past experiences of his life and his growing paranoia as a result of being a major target during a time of war, caused him to react on instinct. Quicker than the eye could see, Harry's hand snapped out and snatched a pale wrist as if it were the winning snitch at the World Cup Final.

Harry's gaze travelled up the arm attached to the hand, and eventually made its way to the cold eyes of Daphne Greengrass. Her face was as stoic as ever, but the slight tremor in her lip gave away the pain she was feeling as a result of Harry's vice-like grip. Harry let up slightly, but not without wanting an explanation, "Were you never taught that it is rude to cast on someone without their permission," Harry growled under his breath.

"Calm down, Potter, I wasn't cursing you," Daphne ripped her hand out of his loosened grip, "I was simply fixing your glasses if you needed to know."

At hearing her words, Harry focused on his lenses and noticed that the crack was indeed repaired, "You do know I am capable of fixing my own glasses, I did pass third year charms," Harry frowned.

"Whatever Potter, if you're working beside me today I'm not taking any chances. Your track record in Potions class speaks for itself, and I don't need the added distraction of broken glasses further increasing the chance of an accident," she flicked her hair over her shoulder before turning her attention back to her station.

"Now, now, everyone! I would like your attention here!" Slughorn called as he flicked his wand to the side, cleaning up Ron's mess. "I have a few of the more interesting brews we will be encountering over the next couple of years here on this table. Gather round, gather round!" Slughorn was waving wildly to his students, clearly enjoying himself, "Now who hear knows the identity of this dangerous liquid?" Slughorn asked the room, pointing to the first cauldron on his left.

Collectively, the entire classroom leaned in and peered over the edge to catch a glimpse of the potion. Despite the intensity of the heat below the cauldron, the perfectly clear liquid inside did not so much as bubble. Harry recognized the potion immediately, having been threatened with it by Snape and seen it in action.

"Veritaserum…" Harry mumbled underneath his breath.

Apparently it was loud enough for Slughorn to hear, as he whipped around and looked at Harry with pride in his eyes, "Yes, my boy, could you say that again?"

"Veritaserum," Harry spoke again in a firmer voice. He caught Hermione's outstretched hand fall back to her side from the corner of his eye. "Three drops, and you'll let slip your deepest, darkest secrets and desires without a second thought."

"Yes, yes, a very practical definition my boy," Slughorn commended Harry as he picked up a ladle and scooped up a sample of the potion, before slowly pouring it back in, "colorless, odorless, and there is no way of knowing when you have consumed any until it is too late. Highly regulated by the Ministry and incredibly difficult to obtain if you are not a part of the DMLE, who kindly lent us this sample today," he finished, putting a lid on the cauldron and casting some sort of sealing spell on top, before moving on to the next cauldron.

The cauldron was emitting clouds of faint blue smoke, so thick that the potion underneath could not be seen. Slughorn wafted the smoke around the classroom, and Harry smelt the earth, similar to what the greenhouses smelt like during Herbology. But after a second sniff, the scent transformed into what he could only describe as feral. It was a viscous smell, almost as if his nose was lusting for blood, and searching for kin.

It was another potion that Harry recognized, as did Hermione judging by her erect hand. "It's Wolfsbane Potion," Malfoy's emotionless voice spoke up suddenly. Hermione's hand dropped with a bit of annoyance this time, while Harry shot a quick look at Malfoy. The characteristic smirk, and smug attitude that went along with his correct answers was noticeably absent.

"Correct, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn eyed the blonde Slytherin, "not a very well-known potion for those who have no use for it, but well done for identifying it," he nodded at Draco. "It is one of the wonders of Modern Potioneering, it was a highly experimental treatment created by Damocles for those afflicted by lycanthropy. It helps a werewolf keep their sanity during transformations and must be taken each day preceding the full moon. It is extremely unstable, and the second hardest potion in this room to brew. That is without mentioning the extraordinary market prices for some of the ingredients, and the dangers of having Aconite as one of its core components. Needless to say, not many use it."

Slowly shifting over to a cauldron of what looked like bubbling tar. Slughorn took out a handkerchief and covered his nose, "I'm sure some of you know what this potion is…" he trailed off, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir!" Hermione blurted out. It seemed that the resident bookworm of Gryffindor Tower could only contain herself for so long. "It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they add a physical part of the target person to the potion as a last step before consuming. The potion only works on humans, and the effect will last longer the better it is brewed."

"Excellent, excellent, I can tell you have researched the potion thoroughly, Miss…" Slughorn paused for a moment, his eyes looking into the distance, "Granger! Yes, of course, Miss Granger, I've heard your name floating around the castle. A bright witch they say, I see they are not mistaken."

Hermione blushed under his praise, as Daphne and Sue Li both scoffed underneath their breaths.

"I do apologize for the smell, Polyjuice has the effect of making your stomach churn. The taste is… much, much worse," Slughorn grimaced, and Harry held back the urge to gag while thinking back to his experience of transforming into Goyle. "I believe we saw the worst of its affects this morning with Mr. Weasley and Miss Turpin."

"We now move on to possibly the most dangerous potion in this room…" Slughorn paused dramatically as he stepped toward the final cauldron. A chorus of gasps rang around the room, as everyone save Harry and Slughorn gravitated towards the potion. A great contentment stole over the room, as the students looked at each other with lazy smiles and unfocused eyes. "Does anyone know the identity of thi-"

"Amortentia!" Hermione called out as she snapped out of her daze, not noticing that she cut off the professor. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world!"

"Correct again Miss Granger, a potion just as strong as Veritaserum in many ways. It creates a false sense of love, one centered around obsession and lust rather than the purity of true love. Many of you might believe this to be the folly of an old man, but believe you me, when you reach my age and have seen as much as I have seen, you will understand how this potion can destroy lives."

The room fell silent at Slughorn's solemn declaration.

Shaking off the dark feeling of Slughorn's words, Harry peered into the cauldron to catch a look of the deceptively dangerous potion. When looking over the edge, Harry was not assaulted by any smells, and the potion was colorless. In fact, if Harry did not know any better, he would have assumed he was looking at Veritaserum again.

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, as he tried to puzzle out why the other students in the room were so attracted to the potion. "Professor," Harry called out without thinking, catching Slughorn's attention and interrupting his response to a question Terry had asked him, "is Amortentia as undetectable as Veritaserum?"

Slughorn cocked his head to the side, intrigued by Harry's question, "I'm not entirely sure if I can give an adequate answer to your question my boy, why do you ask?"

"It's just that, Veritaserum is colorless, odorless, and a person can't taste it when ingested. Wouldn't Amortentia work in a similar manner?"

The class looked at Harry as if he had suddenly grown a third eye and sprouted a tail, and he felt nervousness build in the pit of his stomach at all of the attention he was receiving.

"Harry," Hermione gave him a queer look, "Amortentia isn't like Veritaserum at all. It has a distinct mother-of-pearl sheen, and it smells of what most attracts us, like freshly mown grass, new parchment, and the scent of freshly made breakfa-" Hermione cut herself off blushing.

"Oho, don't we all love the scent of new parchment! Almost as much as the scent of a fresh cup of tea," a soft smile crept up his wrinkled features. "If you don't mind me ask dear boy, what is it exactly that you smell?" Slughorn turned to Harry.

"Nothing, sir, I don't smell a thing," Slughorn's bushy eyebrows shut up his forehead.

"Nothing? Are you sure?" he unconsciously took a step forward intrigued.

"Y-yes," Harry stuttered, wondering why this was so interesting, surely he wasn't the only person who mistook Veritaserum and Amortentia.

"That is fascinating my boy! Amortentia has a different scent for everyone, no two experiences are alike. The potion acts upon our urges, instincts, and perception of who we are and what we desire. But you, my boy, do not see or smell anything!" Slughorn was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Does that mean the potion has no effect on me?" Harry asked with a tinge of hope in his voice. His mind flickered back to his experience of walking through the Hogwarts Express and the gaggle of underclass girls following him around. Not worrying about being slipped amortentia, or any love potion for that matter, from one of the smitten girls would be a relief.

"No, no, I'm afraid that's not it at all," Slughorn answered, killing Harry's hope. The possibility was too good to be true anyways. "As I said before, Amortentia is just as powerful as Veritaserum. There is no fighting its affects, other than waiting for it to wear off or preparing its antidote. I believe the potion is confused when reading you."

"Confused, sir?"

"Confused," Slughorn confirmed, "the potion cannot read you; and if it cannot read you, it cannot know you and produce the smells which will most entice you. I am somewhat of an expert in this particular field, but feel free to pass this off as the ramblings of an old coot who is well past it," Slughorn joked, knowing that even a troll would be able to recognize his genius, "but I believe you have come to a crossroads in your life, Harry. You are at a time of great importance, where your actions will define who you really are, and what you seek in the future. Once you know yourself, the potion will know what to produce."

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard in the classroom was the slow bubbling of liquid and the soft simmering of the magical flames heating Slughorn's demonstrations. In that moment, Harry felt hollow. It had been as if Slughorn had stripped Harry down and exposed him to the entire class. It was a terrifying feeling being told that you don't know who you are. But in all honesty, it was the truth. For so long, Harry had never had a genuine identity. He had been given more names than he could count: Freak, Orphan, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Son of Lily and James, Youngest Seeker in a Century, Heir of Slytherin, Triwizard Champion, Attention Seeking Madman, the Chosen One. So many names, but Harry Potter never felt like he had a true identity.

"Exciting time, yes, exciting times! Fitting, as we are now moving on to the most exciting potion of the morning… and our prize for today!" Slughorn reached inside his robes and dramatically unveiled a small golden vial. "A curious thing this one is. Felix Felicis, or Liquid Luck as some of my colleagues like to call it. A swig of this and you will find that success in all of your endeavors will not be hard to come by."

"There must be some sort of catch, sir? Otherwise people would be drinking it all the time," Ernie pointed out, but his eyes never left the small vial, not even for a second.

"Very sharp, Ernie. Felix is a tricky fellow. Many a Potions Master and Mistress have attempted this particular brew, but few have ever succeeded. Most don't even attempt the potion in fear of its disastrous effects. I myself only attempted it once, in my younger years of course, while still seeking my fair share of glory, and I somehow managed to brew it correctly. However... never again. The risk is simply not worth it for an old man like me."

"Did you use it then, sir?" Michael Corner asked, he was unable to pull his eyes away from the bottle of luck either.

"Oh yes… twice in my life I have enjoyed this Elixir. I was twenty-four when I brewed it myself and spent a day with Felix for the first time. The second, when I was fifty-seven. It is nearly impossible to acquire any, but I managed. Two perfect days. Days I will never forget, and days that make the sweetest of dreams."

"Nearly Impossible? How did you acquire it then?" Malfoy spoke up, looking genuinely interested for the first time that day.

"You will find that the impossible becomes much more probable with the right friends and connections."

Malfoy sneered, obviously not satisfied with the answer given.

"A word of warning to the one who wins Felix this morning," Slughorn held the golden vile up in the air, the light of the torches lining the wall reflected through the glass, giving it an ethereal glow as if it were a gift from Magic itself. "The substance is banned from Quidditch, Ministry actions, academic examinations, organized competitions and tournaments, and is strictly meant for recreational use. This is one of the many reasons you are all checked before each test, exam, and match. I would hope you are all responsible enough to know this."

Slughorn scanned the classroom several times over, before carefully putting the vial back in his pocket, looking satisfied.

"Now then," he spoke suddenly, instantly catching everyone's attention, "pull out your copies of _Advanced Potion Making_ and-" Slughorn paused as he noticed Harry's hand up in the air, "… yes, Harry?"

"I don't have a copy of the book sir, there was a bit of a mistake while shopping in Diagon Alley, and-"

"Not a problem at all, my boy! We all make mistakes, and Merlin knows I've forgotten a fair share of things in my life. Memory is a fickle thing. Take a look in that cupboard over there by my desk," Slughorn unlocked it with a wave of his wand. "Severus chose not to use this textbook over his time as Potions Professor, but I am rather partial to this book, I am sure you will be able to find a copy in there somewhere."

Harry quickly made his way to the cupboard in the corner as Slughorn continued his explanation. After foraging through stacks of miscellaneous and old editions of textbooks, Harry found a single battered copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ shoved at the bottom of the cupboard. It looked to be in terrible condition, with the spine practically falling off, stains and what looked like random scribbling littered the yellowing pages. Not wanting to spend more time and search for another copy, Harry took the textbook back to his station.

"The potion we will all be making is the Draught of Living Death, which can be found on page ten. We have over an hour left in class, which is just enough time for you all to attempt it. I do not expect a perfect potion from any of you, seeing as it is more complex than anything you would have seen during your OWL year. The best potion wins, your time starts… NOW."

Organized chaos exploded immediately, as each student immediately set off on their own attempt to win. It was clear that everyone desperately wanted that vial. Half of the class shot off to gather their ingredients, cutting in front of each other without a second thought. Others rifled their way through their textbook and reference books, looking for any sort of advantage or secret that would ensure their success. Others were aggressively moving their cauldrons, setting their heat, and pulling out whatever tools necessary. There was only one thing on their minds… Felix.

Magic and noise sang throughout the air, and Slughorn stood in the middle of the room, arms folded over his belly, taking it all in with a smile on his face. He was back in his element, and it was obvious to Harry that he was loving every minute of it.

Looking at his well-used copy, Harry squinted as he tried to make out all of the ingredients. The small print was difficult enough, but the small scrawl that filled the margins of the page only made it harder to read. Making his way to the ingredients cabinet, Harry picked out everything listed, including the extra ingredients that were hand drawn. He wasn't sure if he was going to risk using them, but having them on hand just in case was not a bad idea.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Harry immediately set off to work, following the instructions printed on the page. As time passed on, smoke and steam, and various colors and smells started to fill the room. Looking down at his potion, Harry noticed that his potion was little bit chunkier than the 'smooth, black currant-colored liquid' it was supposed to be at this stage.

His text told him that the potion was to sit for two minutes, before the second half of the brewing process would begin. Setting his wand as a timer, Harry took a moment to look around the room. Everyone was at different stages of their potion, and no two potions looked alike. Michael's potion was doing its best imitation of a rainbow, and Harry half expected a family of Leprechaun's to come hopping out. Theodore Nott's cauldron was smoking like a burning building, and the beads of sweat dripping off his sharp brow and into the potion were certainly not helping.

Other's appeared to be at a similar state to Harry's potion, in his not so professional opinion. Ernie's potion was curdling like spoilt milk, but the black color was there. Sue Li's potion had the correct smoothness, but the black looked to be more of a dark blue.

Hermione, Malfoy, and Daphne were all the furthest ahead, which came as no surprise, as they generally were the most talented and consistent brewers. Yet none of their potions looked to match the exact specifications in the textbook.

As his wand vibrated, indicating the two minutes were up, Harry came to the realization that at this point he was out of the running. Rather than giving up and feeling bad about missing out on the chance to win the Liquid Luck, Harry decided to make the most of the opportunity. He would test out the scribbled instructions and see if the mysterious defacer of textbooks knew what they were talking about.

 _Dice 3 Gardenia roots and 3 Valerian roots_

Following the improvised instructions, Harry added the Gardenia and Valerian roots and immediately the chunky nature of his potion transformed into the smoothness described in the textbook.

Harry was astounded. Not one to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Harry quickly scanned down the page and moved onto the next instruction, which was haphazardly scribbled between steps eleven and twelve in the textbook.

 _Use the flat edge of silver knife to crush sopophorous bean, releases more juice than cutting_

Just as he was pulling out his silver knife to crush the bean, something small and hard, like a stone, flew and hit him directly in the forehead. Clutching his now aching forehead, Harry searched the ground for the projectile that struck him. He spotted the brown wrinkled form of the sopophorous bean, and bent over to pick it up, but was beat to it by a brown blur.

"There it is!" Hermione exclaimed in a voice edging on insanity. She looked a right mess, her tie undone, shirt wrinkled and stuck to her body with sweat, and her hair looked as if it had been styled by Hagrid. "Oh, sorry Harry! These beans are giving me a bit of trouble, I didn't have a good grip on this last one," she looked at the uncooperative bean with frustration.

"It says here in my book to crush the bean and not cut them," Harry told Hermione, hoping to help her.

Hermione quickly grabbed his book, her eyes raking over it like it contained the recipe for the elixir of life, before turning back to Harry with a frown marring her face, "The _book_ doesn't say that, somebody just wrote it in."

"I know that, but it worked befor-"

"No, no, Harry, the textbook says cut!" in a whirl of frizzy hair, she immediately left back to her bubbling cauldron, which was the wrong shade of lilac.

"Merlin! How stupid of me, of course it's crush," Daphne's voice caught his attention, as she pushed her silver knife and popped the bean, juice exploding from it. "Thanks Potter," she called over her shoulder, "I should have known that from the beginning, the basic properties of sopophorous beans include their weakness to high amounts of pressure," she mumbled to herself.

Not needing anymore evidence than that, Harry crushed his own bean and scooped all of the juice into his cauldron, giving him the perfect shade of lilac.

 _Stir seven times counter clockwise, followed by one turn clockwise until clear as water._

Staring at the final step, Harry could hardly believe the state his potion was in, it was immaculate. He must have looked quite the sight, with his head whipping back and forth between his textbook and his potion, inspecting it in every which way looking and for the slightest flaw. But he was unable to find any, the potion was perfect.

After repeating the process seven times, his potion resembled the crystal clear water ejected from a well casted _Auguamenti_ spell.

"Time is up! Can everyone turn their heat down, and drop everything they are holding. I will be coming around for inspection," Slughorn announced, his chair scrapping across the cold stone floor as he stood from behind his desk.

Groans and sighs sounded around the classroom, with students frustrated at the state of their potion and others simply thankful that the torturous hour had come to a close.

Rounding the tables and looking into the cauldrons, he wafted, sniffed, and stirred the various attempts. He gave words of encouragement and the odd bit of advice to the students. He looked particularly pleased at Ernie's effort.

"Nearly Miss Granger!" Slughorn exclaimed as he slowly swirled her bubbling potion, "I can see why your previous marks in the course were so high."

It was an interesting mixture of pride, gratitude, and disappointment on Hermione's face. She surely appreciated the compliment, but she was clever enough to realize his words indicated she hadn't won. Harry figured she cared more about winning the competition for the sake of winning, rather than for the vial of Liquid Luck.

"A valiant effort Mr. Malfoy, it seems you have inherited your grandfather's aptitude for potions. Not so much your father… Lucius had little time for potions, he was more focused on… other things," he commented, swiftly moving on just as Malfoy was about to respond.

"Now that is incredible Miss Greengrass, a fantastic effort. St. Mungo's would pay quite a hefty price for a Draught of Living Death of that quality!" Slughorn was absolutely beaming.

"Now moving on to Mr. Potter…" he paused for a moment, his eyes so wide they resembled hard boiled eggs. "Marvelous, absolutely marvelous! Oho! My dear boy, I don't think Lily herself could have brewed a more perfect potion! Merlin's beard, you definitely inherited more than just her eyes," it looked as if tears were threatening to spill out of the corner of his eyes. "Our clear winner, Mr. Potter!"

With a dramatic flourish, Professor Slughorn pulled the vial of Felix Felicis and placed it in Harry's palm, closing his sausage like fingers over Harry's, "Use it wisely," he whispered low underneath his breath, patting Harry's hand with his own.

"A fantastic first class, I can't wait to see what the rest of the year has in store for us! I wish you all a good rest of the day!" he waved cheerily to the students as they slowly made their way out of the dungeon.

Making his way to the Great Hall for a spot of lunch before Defense with Snape, Harry clutched his new prize possession tightly to his side. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as the sound of footsteps rushed up behind him.

"How did you do that," Hermione practically demanded, parchment sticking out of her bag in every which direction. It was clear she had rushed her packing after class in the effort to catch up with him.

"Do what?" Harry asked blankly, fighting the urge to laugh.

Unfortunately, he had underestimated Hermione's impatience in that moment, as she smacked him hard on the shoulder. "You know exactly what I am talking about, Harry Potter! I understand Professor Snape isn't teaching us, and Professor Slughorn likes you, but that doesn't explain the _perfect_ potion you just brewed," she stamped her foot to emphasize her point.

"I just followed the instruction in my book," Harry answered honestly, stepping out of the way of a group of first years who appeared to be lost. The fact Hermione didn't stop to help them was a testament to her interest as to how Harry had performed so well.

"So did I, and my potion was not as clear as the textbook described it should be."

"Maybe my instructions were better," Harry laughed.

"This isn't funny, Harry," Hermione harrumphed.

Feeling bad for his friend, Harry decided to tell her about the scribbling in his textbook. As the frown on her face grew deeper and deeper, Harry realized that his honesty might not have been the best decision.

"That's cheating Harry, it wasn't your own work!" she looked disappointedly at Harry, but there was small gleam in her eye as it flickered towards the book tucked under his arm.

Harry felt a small flare of irritation. After so many years of struggling in Potions under Snape's instruction, he felt as if he deserved a break. He finally escaped the man's dark shadow, and had actually enjoyed himself during Potions class for the first time ever. Sure, Snape called Hermione names and never publically praised her work, but she never had to endure the automatic zero's, vanished cauldron's, and taunts that went along with being the son of James Potter.

"Well it wasn't exactly your work either, Hermione. You didn't invent the potion or write the textbook, you followed the instructions just like I did," Harry reasoned.

Hermione stood there, her mouth opening and closing without making a sound for a few moments, before she collected herself, "But nobody else's textbook had the same information as yours did, Harry. It's simply not fair."

"That information could very well have been wrong. What then Hermione? I could have followed every single one of those directions, and ended up with a potion worse than Nott's. I took the risk, and it paid off for once, I think it is completely fair," Harry snapped back.

Harry knew all about things not being fair. In fact, he knew it better than anyone. His entire life wasn't fair. Becoming an orphan and never knowing your parents isn't fair. Not fair, is when you grow up with relatives who don't give a damn about you. Finding out that your godfather was wrongly imprisoned for thirteen years is unfair. Having that same godfather die right in front of you, because of your own foolish decisions, isn't fair either. What's not fair, is being prophesized to be the only one to kill the worst Dark Lord Britain has seen in centuries. He didn't need Hermione telling him what was fair, and what wasn't.

There was an awkward air between the two as they entered the Great Hall. Not wanting to make the situation any worse than it already was, Harry split away from Hermione and sat on his own at the far end of the table.

Sneaking a backwards glance as he picked up a pair of sandwiches, Harry spotted Hermione speaking intently with Ginny, their red and brown hair cascading downwards creating a curtain of privacy. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were there as well, laughing at a joke the charismatic Irishman had just told.

Harry noticed Ron wasn't there. Not one to miss a meal, even when ill, Harry figured Madam Pomfrey was keeping a keen eye on him.

The Great Hall was slowly filling with clusters of students who were making their way from their morning classes. Excited chatter bounced off the walls as they discussed the beginning of the school year; cutlery and goblets clinking as they tried to balance eating and talking. Several groups of students were groaning about the homework they were already assigned, with some of the more vocal complaints coming from the fifth year students. An involuntary shudder went through his body as he remembered the never ending pile of homework he had to complete in his OWL year.

The professors all sat at the head table, chatting silently amongst themselves, always keeping an eye out on the students. The tension of the previous evening seemed to be drowned out by the excitement of a new year, but that did not mean trouble couldn't appear out of nowhere. Quidditch tryouts were coming up and in house tensions were rising between the new recruits, while some of the more seasoned players were reviving old rivalries and exchanging barbs with the other houses. Not to mention the age old Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry which could spontaneously combust at any moment.

The only professors missing at this point were Snape and Dumbledore. Harry couldn't care less were the greasy git was, he was more interested in where the Headmaster had gone to, he was looking to his next meeting with the man.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Harry stroked the broken spine of his copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. It was a curious book, and Harry wanted to know what other secrets it contained. Did all of the other potions in the book have alternate instructions as well, or had the previous owner only focussed on a few of the more well-known potions? Were all of the alterations correct? He had several other questions as well, but none more important than the identity of the person.

Flipping the front cover of the textbook open, he spotted the familiar scrawl in the upper right hand corner. Not being scrunched between printed instructions, the writing was much larger and more tidy. He did not need to squint his eyes in order to read what was written.

 _This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince_

* * *

The room looked nothing like it used to. That's not to say that it hadn't changed over his past five years at Hogwarts, because it had, but it never looked like this. Unlike the other classrooms that housed the various subjects taught at Hogwarts, which generally reflected the nature of the subject, this classroom reflected more the professor than the actual subject matter. Whether the room stank, was filled with creatures, used as a shrine of self-importance, or a projection of the might of the Ministry, it was always filled with a certain amount of light.

Now the room was shrouded in darkness. Moth-eaten curtains were drawn over the windows, the holes in the material leaking the only slivers of light, otherwise it would have been pitch black. Along the walls were violent and gory depictions of the evil magic that could be accomplished when in the hands of someone perverted with darkness. The images lined the walls, telling their own story, like the artwork of Ancient Egyptians in the tombs where they were eternally laid to rest.

The room stunk of darkness, even the magic in the air felt corrupted. Harry felt a warm sensation fill his scar, like a hot Butterbeer on a cold day. Suffice to say, Harry did not like the new decorating of the room, and judging by the rest of the class, neither did they.

It was completely silent in the classroom despite being filled with students from all four houses. There was no fiddling with quills and parchment, no whispering between friends, or nervous tapping of feet. It was an eerie atmosphere.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, further shrouding the classroom in darkness, before a great ball of light exploded in the air. Students cried out in both pain and fright as the pure white light blinded them. Loud bangs echoed in series around the room, accompanied by the thud of determined footsteps that never broke stride. It was a very disorienting experience for everyone involved.

As his eyes adjusted to his surrounding, Harry spotted the lean figure of Severus Snape sneering over the students sat in front of him. Hot rage pooled in Harry's abdomen, only a prick like Snape would put together such a dramatic entrance. The former Potions Professor wore his trademark black billowing robes, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I will have your undivided attention, those who choose to interrupt me with their idiotic blathering, will not like the… consequences," he drew out the last word, onyx eyes staring unblinkingly at Harry. Harry half expected a vicious legillimency attack, like those he experienced in his private lessons the year before, but it never came.

Tearing his eyes away from his most hated student, Snape peered at the other students scattered around the room. Harry spotted Neville shift uncomfortably in his seat, it seemed he had yet to overcome the fear his Boggart had chosen to manifest into.

"I admit, I am surprised that so many of you have somehow managed to make it this far, given the utterly incompetent instruction you have received these past five years," Snape opened.

Harry bristled at the implied insult directed at Remus.

"I am not a babysitter, I am not here to coddle you and make sure your feelings are not hurt. I am here to teach you how to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts. The material is advanced, and I have no doubt many of you will struggle to keep up. If that is the case, let it be known that I have no reservations against dropping you from this class. My time is not to be wasted," Snape's wand snapped out, and directed the floating ball of white light that illuminated the classroom into the projector in front of him.

The classroom dimmed, as a series of grotesque images, similar to those that lined the walls of the classroom, flickered across a cloth screen.

"The Dark Arts," Snape spoke softly, almost reverently, like one would to a lover, "are ever changing… they do not stop, they cannot be stopped… and are beyond the comprehension of the simple minded dunderheads who seek to do so. They are constantly evolving, changing, and sinking their claws into the very fabric of the world. Fighting them directly is as foolish as attempting to fight nature itself."

A few rows to his left, Harry spotted Hermione scribbling madly on a piece of parchment, capturing every word of Snape's opening speech.

"Parchment and quills away!" Snape snapped, "Are you incapable of sitting still Granger, or are you so much of a know-it-all that you can't help yourself? Reciting my own words back to me will only ensure a failing grade, it would do you some good to think for yourself for once," he berated the girl, despite his eyes looking in the opposite direction.

Hermione immediately dropped her quill and placed her hands in her lap.

"If you wish to survive against the Dark Arts, you must match what is thrown at you. For every twist and turn it takes, you follow, drawing upon all aspects of magic. Intelligence is not enough," his eyes snapped to Hermione, who meekly looked down at her lap, "Instincts, intuition, and invention are what you will rely on if you do not want to end up like this," the flickering images on the slides slowed down as they focused on a disembowelled wizard, a witch under the effects of the Cruciatus, and a child being torn apart by an Inferius.

"But sir, we already covered the Unforgivables in fourth year," Mandy Brocklehurst spoke up from the front row.

Snape glared at her with utter contempt, making it known that he considered her a waste of space and magic, "The Unforgiveable Curses do not comprise the Dark Arts," he spat out, causing the girl to shrink down in her seat, "they are much more. By the time the year is up, I will have shown you things that will make the Unforgivables look like a Cheering Charm," Snape smiled for the first time that Harry could remember. Harry wasn't sure if he could actually consider it a smile, given how it looked completely foreign on his face, like a Muggle in Diagon Alley or Hagrid in Madam Puddifoot's.

But if there was anything that would ever make Snape show off his yellow smile, nightmare inducing spells would have been at the top of Harry's list, right next to his death, and bullying school children being made into an official sport.

"Pair up! One partner will attack, the other will defend… nonverbally!" the projector was violently throw to the other end of the classroom. The same was done to the desks after everyone stood up, effectively clearing the room.

"How are we supposed to cast nonverbally if we've never done it before?" Ron's voice called out.

"Mind power, Weasley... something which many of you lack," Snape sneered as he made his way to his desk.

"Oi, is it just me, or did he get a lot more sadistic over the summer? You'd think he would lighten up after finally getting the job he's wanted his whole life," Ron whispered to Harry as they partnered up.

"You notice how none of those pictures had vampires," Harry muttered back, "I think it's because he doesn't want to out himself," Ron snickered.

"Feeling better?" Harry asked, he hadn't seen Ron since the incident in Potions that morning.

"Loads better," Ron grinned back, "Pomfrey gave me and Lisa some potion to get rid of the nausea. But she made me stay a few hours extra to make sure I didn't throw up again."

"Ah, sorry mate," Harry knew very well how boring the Hospital Wing could be.

"It wasn't that bad…" Ron shuffled his feet, "Lisa stayed behind to keep me company. Said she saw no point in going back to Potions. Even got Dobby to bring us some lunch, I bloody love that elf by the way."

Around them in the room, spells started to fly as most students were muttering underneath their breaths in the attempt to appear as if they were silently casting. However, Harry was certain their cheating wouldn't fool Snape when he came around to inspect.

"Listen…" Ron leaned closely to Harry, "I went up to Gryffindor Tower before coming to class to put on some new robes, and I ran into Malfoy on my way down."

That caught Harry's attention.

"He was sneaking up around the seventh floor with that bag of his. You think he knows where the Gryffindor common room is and was trying to do something to it? Maybe trying to get you?"

"Wait, you believe me?" Harry was caught off guard, he had thought Ron would have sided with Hermione.

"Well… kind of. I mean, I find it hard to believe that Malfoy is a Death Eater working for Voldemort. But I can't deny he's been acting suspicious. So… you think Malfoy is trying to knock you off?" Ron's face was as hard as stone. It was clear if anybody wanted to get to Harry, they would have to go through Ron first.

Harry thought back to when they had crossed each other on the seventh floor a few nights ago. That would have been the perfect opportunity for Malfoy to try and kill him, if that was in fact the mission he had been given. But Malfoy didn't attack, he barely acknowledged him… and he didn't even brag about what happened on the train. That was very odd, just like his newfound Occlumency abilities.

"No, I don't think so," he answered honestly. "As much as he probably wants to, I don't think that is what he's trying to do. Besides, at this point I think Voldemort has made it known that he wants to be the one to off me."

"Potter! Weasley!" Snape's cold voice caught their attention, "Did I not give you instructions to practice nonverbal spells."

"Yes. Sir." Ron ground out, stepping back and pulling out his wand.

"Stop," Snape ordered as Ron was midway through his wand movement, "I believe the class would do well with a demonstration," his eyes gleamed, "surely the Chosen One is capable of something so simple as silent casting."

Harry immediately realized that Snape had been planning this.

Quicker than Harry thought possible, Snape's wand was out and a sickly yellow spell he didn't recognize was shooting right at him. Whatever it was, it sure as hell was not a Tickling Charm.

Harry's mind flashed, and his vision was filled with robes as black as pitch and bone white masks. Spell fire erupted in his ears, colored lights streaked through his vision, and mad cackling floated on top, accompanied by the chaos surrounding him. It was a symphony of destruction.

Glowing white orbs fell from the sky, as a misty figure solemnly spoke words of power, and a pair of haunted grey eyes flew through a curtain.

Before him, the pale skin of Severus Snape turned a few shades lighter, and the hair on top of his head fell off in clumps until he was completely bald. He stunk of blood and rotting flesh. Of death. A fire lit within the depths of his black eyes, growing at an exponential rate, until all that was left were roaring pits of blood red flame. His hooked nose was turning to ash, as Quirrel did in his first year, before all that was left were two thin slits in its place.

In front of him stood Lord Voldemort.

Before his mind could catch up with what had just transpired, the Dark Lord disappeared and was replaced by a growing yellow light. Primal instinct coursed through Harry's body, as he twisted his shoulders, the yellow light skimming right past him. In the same motion, his holly wand sent off a silent _Incarcerous._

Gasps echoed around the room, and as Harry returned to reality, he was met with the sight of a shocked classroom and a murderous Snape. Shattered chains lay in a broken mess at his feet, his wand pulsating violently in his hand.

" _Out_." A chill spread throughout the room.

" _Out. Now._ " His jaw was clenched so tightly that anymore pressure and his teeth would have shattered.

"P-p-profes… s-s-sir…" Harry was lost for words.

"Did I stutter Potter? Get out! Now!" The door to the classroom flew open with a thunderous _slam_ , and Harry snatched his schoolbag before quickly exiting without a word.

Rushing through the corridors of the castle, Harry tried to piece together whatever madness he had just experienced. Students shrieked as he stormed past them, his magic whirling around him.

Century old portraits were rushing to and from their oil coated residences, whispering in each other's ears and shooting furtive glances in the raven haired boys direction, as they discussed the most recent bit of gossip. It would only be moments before word spread around the castle.

Some of the more law abiding pieces of artwork, shouted at him to pay attention and walk when in the castle. A chivalrous knight in gleaming plate armour yelled after him, calling him a 'scoundrel' and a 'rouge,' none of which he paid any attention to.

He thought he had gotten over that night. It had been difficult, but he was certain that he had made some progress. Why had Snape's sudden attack triggered such vivid and violent memories? It had felt as if he were back in the Ministry, back to the moment Sirius died, to the moment he had witnessed the awe inspiring power of Dumbledore and Voldemort in their epic duel, and the moment the world changed around him forever.

At least he had one upped Snape, he thought to himself. He already knew he could cast silently, but the satisfaction of catching Snape off guard was a feeling he savoured.

Turning a corner tightly, Harry walked directly into another person. Liquid splashed up into his face as he heard the soft patter of what sounded like paper falling to the ground. The distinct smell of sherry filled his nostrils.

"Oh goodness… again and again I find myself here," the scratchy sound of Sybil Trelawney came from somewhere on the ground.

Looking down, Harry spotted his former Divination professor on her hands and knees crawling on the ground picking up strange playing cards that were slowly being soaked in the sherry leaking out of a broken bottle on the floor.

A feeling of resentment bubbled within him as he looked at the pitiful sight of the woman who had ruined his life and forged his destiny. What made it worse, was how she was entirely clueless to what she had done.

Two prophecies she had made about him, one fulfilled, the other slowly coming into fruition.

Flicking his wand, Harry cleaned up the spilt sherry, catching the drunk professor's attention. Trelawney peered up through her ridiculously large glasses, which had the unintentional effect of magnifying her eyes to a comical size, and stared at Harry.

"The eye… the eye never lies," she muttered to herself as she bent back down to pick up the rest of her cards, "storm clouds brewing… and a flash of green lightning. The inner eye knows all," she slowly climbed to her feet, almost tripping on the hem of her worn down robes.

"Err… right. Well, sorry about your cards professor," Harry lamely apologized. It was in fact his fault that they ran into each other, he hadn't been paying attention.

"Cartomancy. Not cards… cartomancy," she corrected him, at least Harry thought she did, he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about, "The inner eye is clear, I could give you a reading, tell you what is to come," she offered while shuffling the deck.

"I'm fine," Harry declined stiffly, he wanted nothing to do with the woman.

"No matter…" she mumbled quietly, still shuffling. "You should take my class," her unfocused eyes stared right through him.

"I have… I was in your class for the last three years," Harry looked at Trelawney as if she was insane. In fact, he knew she was. If he reached out and shook her head, he would bet his Firebolt that gobstones would be rolling around in there.

"You would make a fantastic subject," she carried on, ignoring him. "The inner eye is a fickle thing, opening and closing upon a whim. But with you… _you_ make the eye _open_. You are so clear, so… _fascinating_ ," Trelawney gripped his arm. He tried to pull away, but she would not let go.

"You toe the line of adventure and disaster, living in the presence of evil. So many futures intersect with your own," her breath was hot on his face, bile growing in his throat at her proximity, "Choices will define you, and what you become. Death is the end, and it clings to you like a cloak. It is the last enemy to be destroyed..." she trailed off, practically clinging to him. "Come to my classroom Harry Potter, and your future will be told," she whispered into his ear, before stumbling down the corridor shuffling her cards and leaving Harry staring after her retreating figure.

 **AN**

 **Welcome back to my story! I finished my year at Uni, and I have just returned from a wonderful vacation. I'm all refreshed, and ready to further explore this story. Now that I am back, I'm shooting for bi-weekly updates at the least (or any time earlier). That goes for both my stories.**

 **The divergence is beginning, and quite a few interesting plot points were planted in this chapter. You will see the lasting impact of them as time goes on.**

 **I very much appreciate all of the kind reviews I have received, it really means a lot to me, and I promise to keep up the quality (and improve it hopefully) while increasing the quantity. I know how it feels to wait for a story to update. I'd say it goes right up their with waiting for brownies to finish baking.**

 **The relationship between Harry and his friends will be of vital importance for the first arc of this story. I try to limit the amount of filler I write, and make all interactions have some sort of meaning or importance behind them.**

 **I promise there will be some more Dumbledore and mentioning of Fleur in the next chapter, as the excitement of Harry's sixth year continues to unfold. I know a lot of people like to write stories in Harry's fourth/fifth year, but I think his sixth year is criminally underused. The characters are that much more mature, Voldemort is out in the open, the Ministry is hanging on by a thread, and Dumbledore is running on borrowed time. It's such an interesting time! I really think more authors should take a shot at using it as a starting point.**

 **Anyways, feel free to leave any thoughts, ideas, or opinions you have as a review. I read them all, and appreciate them a lot (both the good and bad). They help me improve as a writer, and really do motivate me.**

 **Until next time.**


	6. Chapter 6

A red blur shot past him, fast enough to send a wave of displaced air in their wake, forcing Harry to readjust his grip on his Firebolt in order not to fall off. He couldn't help but stare in admiration at their play, as they weaved between bludgers and muscled off defenders before rifling the quaffle through the far hoop, just beyond the keeper's outstretched fingers.

Cheering erupted from the stands as the scorer looped around in celebration, with a wide grin spread across their flushed face. Looking over at the boys from various houses who had conglomerated on the main stand to watch the Gryffindor tryout, Harry wasn't sure if they were cheering for the goal or the girl riding the broom.

"Oi, Ron! You ever going to save one of your sister's shots!"

"Bugger off Seamus!" Ron sent the Irishmen a particularly rude hand gesture. "She wouldn't have gotten into such a good position if she hadn't shoved you out of the way like some 'Frankie First-year.' Don't tell me Ginny is actually stronger than you?" Ron taunted.

"I couldn't err… you know, hurt her. Dean would kill me… and uh, she's a girl," Seamus scrambled for an excuse, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

"Yeah, I'm a girl... so what? Just because I have a pair of tits, Seamus, doesn't mean I can't fly rings around you," Ginny flew up beside the arguing boys. "Pretend to go easy on me again Seamus, and I'll punch you in the nose," she gave the thoroughly embarrassed boy a wink, before shooting back off across the pitch accompanied by the sound of catcalls from the stands.

"Your sister's a bloody force Ron," Seamus uttered slack jawed.

Ron simply grunted in response, distracted by something in the stands.

"Everyone! Come on in!" an amplified voice called from the field below. The three boys slowly drifted down to where all of the players were assembled. "Harry, get over here!" Katie called from the center of the crowd, "Believe it or not… you made the team."

Laughter broke out between the players, as Harry made his way forward. His position at Seeker was practically a given, but that didn't stop a roar of applause coming from the stands at the announcement. He shared a quick smile with Katie as he took his place beside his captain.

"First off, I'd like to thank all of you for coming and trying out. I know it took a while to sort through the Harry Potter Fan Club earlier, but thanks for sticking around until the end," Harry shifted uncomfortably at the memory of the girls, led by Romilda Vane, who came solely for him. "For our Chasers, we have me, Ginny, Demelza starting, and Dean will be our reserve…sorry Seamus."

"It's alright, love, I only came for you anyways," the notorious bachelor tried his luck.

"It's never happening Seamus, I've been saying it for years," she shook her head in exasperation.

"Can't fault a bloke for trying," he shrugged good naturedly before heading off to the change rooms.

"Now for our beaters, I've decided to go with Peakes and Coote. If we are in need of a reserve, I'll hold an informal tryout and make my decision then," there was a collective nodding of heads as she announced her decision. Looking down at a small piece of parchment in her hand, Katie swallowed nervously.

There was a tense air before the final announcement. Harry spotted beads of sweat dripping from beneath Ron's headgear as he looked on the verge of fainting, while McLaggen's knuckles were white from his clenched fists. It really was a toss-up between the two in determining who would be the keeper. Ron had an up and down season last year when they had won the cup, however he had a good showing today at the tryout. Cormac on the other hand, looked quite solid between the hoops, except for one goal where he went the complete wrong direction as the shot.

Harry was hoping Katie would give Ron the position. Not only because he was his best mate, but also because he would fit better with the team. Whatever confidence issues Ron seemed to struggle with, Harry was of the opinion it would be easier to deal with than Cormac. He might be handsome and capable, but McLaggen was an arrogant berk who would ruin the dynamic within the team. Harry could only pray that Katie realized the same thing.

"It was a very tough decision for me to make…" she paused again, drawing out the suspense, "but I've decided to go with Weasley as our starting keeper, and McLaggen as our backup."

There were a few gasps that echoed across the stands as if shocked by the decision, most of them came from girls who spent more time staring at McLaggen than watching him play. However, Harry did hear a few cheers in congratulation of Ron. Particularly Hermione, who was waving wildly from the front row, with a few books in hand.

"This is bullshit! You seriously picked Weasley over me… _Weasley_!" McLaggen spat in outrage. "You saw me up there Katie, you know I made more saves and played a better game. This is plain old favoritism, and I won't have it!" he threw his broom to the ground, as if to emphasize his point.

"That's enough McLaggen, this was a very difficult decision and one I did not take lightly. If you have an issue with my decision, come see me and talk to me afterwards. For Merlin's sake, be mature about this!" Katie shot back with steel in her voice.

"Yeah, sure, I'll talk to you after. But this is bullshit and you know it, Katie," McLaggen stomped forwards to pick up his broom, before shoving his way through the assembled crowd and headed to the showers.

"Hey, you made the right decision," Harry lay a gentle hand on Katie's shoulders.

"Yeah… I know. Who thought being captain would be so much fun…" she chuckled mirthlessly.

"Listen Katie," she turned and looked up at Harry, "you handled that well. Better than I would have, anyways. I probably would have just hexed him," Harry joked, getting a smile from his friend. "But that's why you make such a good captain. You kept your cool, held firm to your decision, and maintained order when he started to freak out. Oliver and Angelina would be proud," he finished, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

"I'll post the practice schedule in the coming weeks," she announced, breaking the silence created by McLaggen's departure. "Thanks again for coming, and go out and enjoy yourselves in Hogsmeade."

"Katie," Harry moved beside her, as everyone cleared the field, "just… if McLaggen gives you any problems, let me know. I know you can take care of yourself well enough, it's just that I don't want you to get in any trouble."

"Thanks Harry, it means a lot. I'm sure it will be fine though; I've dealt with Cormac for almost seven years now. But…" a cheeky look filled her hazel eyes, "having the Chosen One watching my back isn't a bad thing either."

"What's the Chosen One not bad for?" a familiar voice teased from the side. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing exactly who it was.

"Hey Megan!" Katie called excitedly, "Were you watching the tryouts?"

"Spying is more like it," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"I'm hurt Harry," Megan clutched her chest dramatically, "how do you know I didn't come to watch you? Maybe I'm a secret member of your fan club."

"And spend time going to meetings with Romilda Vane?"

"Never," she said aghast, "I'd rather snap my broom."

"My point exactly," Harry laughed as Megan stuck her tongue out.

"Fine… I may or may not have come today to see what the Gryffindor quidditch team will be like this year. That, and Lisa wanted to come watch," she gestured to the slim Ravenclaw next to her, who waved shyly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"So, are any of you guys heading down to Hogsmeade today?" Katie asked.

"I don't know about Lisa, but I'm heading down there with Harry today," Megan answered, and Katie looked a little disappointed. "But he's going to need to shower first, because I refuse to go with him the way he is smelling right now."

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked.

"Sorry Harry… but it is," Lisa spoke up for the first time, giggling as Harry lifted his arm and took a whiff to see if they were telling the truth. They were.

"Oi, Harry, there you are!" Ron's voice caught his attention as he approached from behind him with Ginny. "Can you believe the bloody git! Saying I was picked because of favoritism! Acting like his Merlin's gift to Quidditch… did you see what he did on that one goal? He flew in the opposite direction, the daft prick!"

"I wouldn't worry about McLaggen, Ron. You're our starting keeper, and as long as you keep playing the way you are, and you don't get injured, then Cormac will never find himself on the pitch."

"I've already told Ron this, I don't know why he's being so thick. Cormac's all talk, you just need to ignore him," Ginny huffed.

"I think you did great Ron," Lisa chimed in.

"It's true. McLaggen might be the more athletic keeper, but he doesn't have an ounce of game sense. You read the game much better than he does," Megan agreed.

"Thanks," Ron's face turned crimson under the praise. "Well, uh, I'm going to head off now. Me and Gin were going to go down to Hogsmeade with Hermione, Neville, and Luna. I don't know if you, err, want to join us, but you can if you want?" Ron offered, looking to Lisa and then Katie.

"Sure, why not, I just need to freshen up," Katie agreed. Lisa blushed and nodded shyly, obviously not expecting the offer.

"Great! Well, have fun on your date Harry," Ron slapped him on the back. "Don't forget to get me an autograph from Gwenog!" he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the path back to the castle, where Hermione was waiting for them.

Harry felt his face flush as he turned back to Megan once the others left, "Is this… you know, a date?"

Megan burst out laughing. Not in a harsh way, but in a way that made him smile. "Honestly, when I asked you, the thought never crossed my mind. I can see why people would think that though. I guess you could consider it a date if you wanted. It will be funny seeing all of the heartbroken looks when your fanclub finds out."

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to think of their trip to Hogsmeade as a date, either. He enjoyed spending time with Megan, she was a good friend, funny, and definitely attractive. He didn't encounter the same problems of not knowing what to say to her like he did when he was with Cho. But he didn't know how strongly he felt, or if a relationship was something he really wanted with her.

Harry was happy Megan seemed completely unconcerned with what was going on. It gave him more time to figure out what was going on in his life. His inability to smell the love potion, and Trelawney's words played heavily on his mind the past few weeks, and it made him fearful of the future.

"Has your sister mentioned anymore as to why she wanted to talk to me?" Harry asked, curious as to the point of the meeting.

"Other than trying to recruit you, nope. She was pretty vague about it in her last letter," Megan shook her head, her brown hair tousling in the autumn breeze. "All she said was to meet her at the Three Broomsticks for a late lunch."

"The Three Broomsticks is busy enough on its own, won't having a celebrity like her around make it a little difficult to talk?" Harry remembered the first time he went to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, and the amount of attention he gathered in the Leaky Cauldron. Gwenog Jones was a national quidditch hero, he could hardly imagine what sort of reception she got everywhere she went. If there was one thing people loved almost as much as child saviours, it would be quidditch stars.

"Worried about not being the most famous person in the room, Harry?" Megan teased, before continuing, "Rosmerta knows we're coming, I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's not the first time she's come to visit me on a Hogsmeade weekend," she smirked as they approached the main castle doors.

Squeezing past a group of third years being hassled by Filch for their permission slips, the pair of them made their way to the central corridor of the castle.

"I'll wait here for you," Megan told Harry as she took a seat on a stone bench, crossing her legs and smoothening out her skirt, "try not to keep a lady waiting," she winked.

Being the only all-wizarding village in all of Britain, Hogsmeade held a special place in the hearts of most witches and wizards. For many of the past and current Hogwarts students, they thought fondly back on the memories they had of their weekend trips away from the castle. Everyone who had visited the village at least once, had a story to tell. Whether it be a horrible first date, sneaking up to the Shrieking Shack, flirting with Rosmerta, or getting drunk on stolen Firewhisky, there was never a lack of stories to exchange.

Despite its close proximity to the castle, not everything in the village was associated with Hogwarts. Hogsmeade was much more than the main strip dominated by Hogwarts students on weekends such as these. Beyond the laughter of Zonko's Joke Shop, the salivating goodness of Honeydukes and the horror show that is Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, lay much more mundane destinations needed for everyday life.

One thing Harry noticed that a lot of people seemed to forget, was that Hogsmeade, above all else, was a village. It was a place where people lived, not simply a weekend getaway for students or a tourist destination. He found it fascinating that Ministry workers, store owners, Quidditch players, and so many others lived here. It was something he thought often about, but was too abstract an idea for him to grasp onto it. Growing up, getting a job, settling down, and finding a place to live the rest of your life, it all seemed unattainable. He never had a place to call home, a place where he could imagine living the rest of his life.

Privet Drive was the furthest thing from a home that Harry could think of. There wasn't a day that went by, where Harry knew he didn't belong. It was a safe place, unpleasant as it was, thanks to Dumbledore's wards, but Harry refused to believe that a home was only about safety.

The Burrow was a home, a place filled with love and happiness, but it took not even two days into his first stay there before second year for him to once again feel like an outsider. The Weasley's tried their best to make him part of the family, and Harry was fairly certain they secretly wished he was, but it wasn't meant to be. There was an innate feeling that told him he didn't belong, and that was ignoring the blatantly obvious fact that he did not have red hair.

Hogwarts was the first place on earth where he knew he belonged. He was born a wizard, not some freak, and he was going to a school meant for people like him. He fit in, he made friends, he had fun; all things he had never experienced before, yet it wasn't enough. Hogwarts was a school, and a school was not a home. It was as simple as that. Even the professors didn't live in the castle full time.

Sirius offered him a home once. They had only just met and proved his innocence, but there was a connection between them. Something so simple, yet strong and magical and out of this world, that nothing else mattered. The two of them sat next to each other, on the hill next to the Whomping Willow staring at the stars in the night sky, dreaming of a future together. Sirius in his filthy rags, with his blackened teeth, haunted eyes, and his fraying sanity felt more like home than anything he had come across before. It was funny how the world worked, finding love in the oddest of places.

But his life was never that simple.

In a whirlwind of events that included a werewolf, a time turner, and a petty professor who clung to a twenty-year-old grudge, his dream was shattered. Sirius never went free… and now he was dead. It was painful for Harry to think back to that night on the hill, a place haunted by the ghosts of unfulfilled promises and dead dreams.

"Harry are you listening?" a voice and a firm shove to his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

Looking over to his right, he noticed that he had been ignoring Megan for a while now, probably since they had entered the village.

"Sorry… I was just lost in thought," Harry rubbed the back of his hair sheepishly, genuinely feeling bad for ignoring the girl.

"How do you do that?" Megan's brown eyes looked at him inquisitively.

"Do what?"

"You know…" she waved her hands around, trying to illustrate a point, "how do you zone out like that? One moment you're there, and the next, you're looking off into space in your own world."

Harry laughed, "I don't really know. It's just something I've done forever," he shrugged.

"I wish I could do it," she sighed, leaning slightly against Harry as they walked. "Just to get away for a little bit, you know?" she asked rhetorically. "The world's such a confusing place… one day everything seems to make sense, and the next, a _Point Me_ spell couldn't tell me what direction I'm headed."

Feeling as if Megan was speaking her frustration aloud, and not knowing if she wanted his input, Harry hummed along in agreement. Apparently it was the right decision, as Megan continued on after a moment of silence, "Life would be so much easier if it was like Quidditch," she chuckled to herself, "Quidditch has always made sense to me."

"If my life was like Quidditch, I don't think I would ever leave the Hospital Wing, I'd be married to Madam Pomfrey at this point," Harry joked, earning a small smile from Megan.

"Oh, we're here!" Megan announced as they approached Hogsmeade's most famous pub. "Just head to the counter, and Rosmerta will know where to take us," she explained as they pushed open the door.

A bell sounded as they entered the Three Broomsticks. It was meant to announce a customer's arrival, but the pub was so busy that its purpose was useless. It was completely packed inside with barely any room to stand, and a cacophony of noise reverberated around the establishment.

Harry spotted Ron and Hermione sitting with some D.A. members and Lisa, as he waded through the crowds of people. He was fairly sure he saw Luna's blonde head, but before he could be sure, she disappeared behind a crowd of third year boys. Normally he wouldn't be sure what year they were in, but the dozen or so empty Butterbeer glasses screamed 'first time Hogsmeade visitors.' It was a mistake made by many, and they would definitely be stopping by the Hospital Wing for something to soothe their stomachs.

Quickly dodging out of the way of a server floating a stack of empty glasses that nearly reached the ceiling, Harry nearly fell on top of Seamus and Dean. After a quick laugh and a few words, he left his dorm mates behind, following Megan. Although, he did notice the absence of Ginny, and briefly wondered if that was the reason why Dean looked a little put out.

"Hello Mr. Potter!" the cheery voice of Madam Rosmerta called out to him as he approached the bar, "Megan, you as well."

"Harry is going to come with me," Megan supplied.

"Oh, I see," Rosmerta raised an eyebrow at the two. "Well, your sister is already here," her voice dropped as she leaned in closer to them, "I'll take you two on back."

Rosmerta shimmied out from behind the bar, her prominent bust pushing tightly against her blouse, threatening to burst at the seams. Harry quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring like some of the other hormonal patrons, but it was very difficult to do. For however old Rosmerta was, she was still a very attractive witch, and the woman used it well in boosting her business and raking in tips.

"I open a small place in my storeroom for some of the more well-known guests, hoping for discretion," she explained to Harry, before sending him a wink, letting him know she had caught him looking earlier. "Gwenog comes fairly often, says it reminds her of the good old days," she chatted.

"There's nothing Gwenog won't do for your fish and chips, and a glass of Butterbeer, Rosmerta. She swears that if she wasn't pro, she would eat here every day of the week," Morag joked.

"Oh, trust me sweetie, I have plenty of people who come here every day… but they're not coming for the food. But, what are you going to do?" she laughed. "If they want to keep giving me business, I'd be a fool to turn them away. Not like they're getting what they are looking for."

Harry knew what being stared at was like. It wasn't in the nature as Rosmerta, but he still knew the feeling. He could hardly stand it, but it seemed like Rosmerta enjoyed it, thrived in it even. Rosmerta gained some respect in his eyes for that.

Moving past the corner booth, where Malfoy was sitting on his own, Rosmerta led them through an unlabelled door he had never seen before. There must have been some sort of privacy or notice-me-not charms on it, keeping people's attentions away from it and on what was occurring in the pub.

It was only moments later that they came to a cozy, candlelit side room, with a smaller version of the tables in the pub sitting in the center. Sitting on one side of the wooden table was Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies and international quidditch star, smirking at them.

It was a bit of a surreal moment seeing Gwenog, who looked so much like her sister, only a bit broader from her training. He had met and befriended Viktor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament, but it was always a bit of a shock meeting a celebrity. Harry thought he heard Ron mention that Ginny was a Holyhead fan once during the summer, he could hardly imagine what her reaction to meeting Gwenog would be like. Harry had to hold back the urge to laugh at picturing the Ginny he knew now, shoving her elbow in a butter dish.

"Finally you show up! I thought you two had buggered off and gone to find a place to snog or something," if Harry had expected anything to leave Gwenog Jones' mouth, he would never have guessed that.

"Gwen!" Megan shouted at her sister, blushing furiously. Harry didn't need a mirror to know that he was as well.

"Calm down Meg, I'm only joking, there's no need to protect your boyfriend's virtue."

"I'm not Megan's boyf-"

"Of course you're not, I knew that already. Megan has made that very clear in her letters… and I mean _every_ letter," she smiled mockingly at her sister.

"Anyways," she dragged out the word, "thanks for this Rosmerta."

"It's no problem, dear. You know I always look forward to your visits," she smiled before leaving the room.

"I've ordered for the three of us," she pointed to a covered platter at the end of the table. "I hope you like fish and chips, Harry, because I ordered it for the three of us. If you don't want it, I'll eat it for you. I came here straight from training and I am starving," she finished as she distributed the plates, and Butterbeers that were there as well.

"Thanks," Harry answered gratefully, "we had tryouts this morning, and food sounds great right now."

It had taken Dobby and Kreacher some convincing, but he managed to keep them from preparing him any food when stopped by the castle earlier. He had nothing against their cooking, but he had been looking forward to going to the Three Broomsticks all week.

"So you do still remember how to handle a broom?"

"I haven't been in many game situations, but most of the rust has come off at this point. I'm confident I'll be fine by the time the season starts."

"Fair enough, but shaking the rust off isn't good enough at higher levels of play," she stated before taking a sip of her drink, "you shouldn't be getting back into the groove of playing, you should be continually getting better and improving your game. The summer league would have helped with that, I was disappointed when you declined the offer, a lot of kids would kill for that chance."

"That's not fair Gwen!" Megan burst into the conversation, "It's not Harry's fault… it's just that his living situation is a bit… difficult," she finished off quietly under her sister's glare for interrupting.

"Is that true?" Gwenog looked over at Harry.

"More or less, it's a bit, uhh, difficult to explain," Harry did not want to start discussing his life with the Dursley's. The less said about them, the better in his opinion.

"Understandable, it's your private life, I won't go digging," Gwenog backed off. "It doesn't matter now. _Umbridge_ ," she practically spat, "has disappeared off the face of the earth, and that ridiculous ban has been lifted, so you can enjoy your quidditch this year. Scouts will be there looking at you like always, so just play like you usually do… but better," she smirked, and Harry laughed.

Conversation came easier after that, as the three of them enjoyed their meals. The two sisters were remarkably similar in their sense of humour, and took turns teasing each other in the most embarrassing ways. It was apparent through their interactions, how much they loved one another, and the extent Megan idolized her older sister. They traded stories about their times at Hogwarts, and Harry learnt a lot about their lives at home, growing up.

"I heard you weren't made captain this year," Gwenog stated, after they had finished a discussion on her time as England's captain.

"I actually declined it," he replied, but quickly continued at seeing the frown on her face, "I felt that Katie deserved it. I played one match last year before getting banned, while she stuck it out with a group of rookies and players out of position, and still won the cup. I thought she deserved it more than I did."

Technically he was not lying to Gwenog, as that was _one_ of the reasons he declined it, he just didn't want to talk about the other ones.

"I see the reasoning in that. Humble… teams will like that. Manager's deal with a lot of ego's, they appreciate those who are easy to coach," she reasoned, as they piled up their empty plates. "Megan, can you step out for a moment and take these to Rosmerta?"

"Why?" Megan asked, clearly not liking how she was being dismissed.

"I have some recruitment talk that I need to discuss with Harry. The confidential kind… you know how it is," she explained.

Apparently that was enough for Megan to accept, but she still shot sceptical glances at her sister as she levitated the plates and glasses out of the room.

"My recruitment talk isn't all that interesting," she started as soon as the door closed behind her sister, "the moment you step out of the Great Hall after graduation, teams will be lining up trying to sign you. Obviously my team can't sign you, but if we could, we definitely would."

"…what…?" Harry was practically speechless. He figured this must have been some sort of joke. There was no possible way he was good enough to have teams asking him to go pro. He lost to Cedric in third year, did nobody see him fall off his broom. Sure, the Dementors invaded the pitch, but he still felt responsible for their loss that day. It was his only ever loss.

"Listen Harry, I know you're humble and all that, but you need to realize just how good you are. Scouts have been raving about you for years now. Believe you me, you're not perfect, and your technical game needs improvement, but that comes with time. You are probably the best natural seeker I have ever seen. Your instinct and speed is something that can't be taught. There are a lot of people who are still upset about missing out on Charlie Weasley, but they will riot if they miss out on you."

"Wow… thanks. It's just, a lot to take in," Harry really did not know what to say. He had never seriously considered going professional in quidditch.

"Don't worry about it," she waved her hand dismissively, you are friends with Megan and I like you. I felt like you needed to be informed."

A moment later, Gwenog's wand was out and she was casting privacy charms. Harry was half tempted to pull out his own wand and try the _Muffliato_ charm he read about in the Prince's book, but thought better of it, since he had yet to test it out.

"I've heard that you've been acquainted with my cousin," she said suddenly.

Harry's eyebrows scrunched together not understanding why all the privacy was needed. He wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about. Megan had mentioned quite a few cousins over the time he had known her, and there weren't any other Jones' who went to Hogwarts… at least he didn't think so.

It was only a second later that it hit him. Hestia. She must have been talking about Hestia Jones... she had to be. Did that mean she knew about the Order? It was possible, but Dumbledore was fairly strict and believed strongly in secrecy. There was only one way to find out.

"I have met Hestia, if that is who you are referring to," Harry answered cautiously.

"I was." she replied simply, eyeing up Harry for a moment. "I don't know how you two know each other and what exactly it is you are up to, nor do I particularly care, but I can guess that it has something to do with You-Know-Who."

Harry nodded his head.

"Officially, quidditch players don't get involved with politics. Quidditch is our livelihood, we sleep, we eat, we train, and we play. That is what is expected of us, and that is what we do. We are completely neutral in everything we do, it's a club and league policy. Keeps the fans happy."

"And unofficially?" Harry asked.

"Unofficially, I care a lot about my family and will do almost anything to help them. I'm going to be honest with you here, I'm not a brave person, and I'm not a fighter by any means, I barely scraped past my NEWTs. The only side I will ever take is quidditch. I don't want any trouble in my life, and I hope Megan is the same way. Hestia was always the brave one, looking out for those in need, but Merlin dammit, she's family and I care for her."

Harry could sympathize with her, not everyone was cut out for war. He envied the people who had a choice, the one's who weren't thrown up against a Dark Lord because they were marked at birth by a prophecy.

"All I'm saying…," Gwenog let out a puff of air, clearly stressed by the conversation she was having, "… I'm saying that Quidditch players know a lot of people, especially those in high places. They don't pay much attention to us, since we are supposed to be athletes married to our sport, not people who think freely and have opinions. So… sometimes we hear things that we shouldn't."

"And you are willing to pass along this information?"

"If the information is pertinent to whatever you and my cousin are tangled up in, I will pass it along on one condition… keep Megan out of this," she finished with a look on her face that could scare away a bludger.

"I would never put Megan in danger!" Harry exclaimed, "If I had a say in any of this, none of my friends would be involved."

"I know, I know, there's only so much you can do. People make their own decisions in life, and Megan will make hers… just keep her safe."

"I will, I promise."

"I know you will," she smiled gently at Harry.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Harry asked tentatively, noting that they had been on their own for a while.

"Not particularly, unless you wanted something else?"

"Well…" Harry paused, "my friend did ask me to get him an autograph. Is that possible?"

"Why not," she answered, before grabbing a napkin from the table and signing it with a muggle pen, "Easier to carry than a quill," she explained, "most of us carry them around for on-the-spot autographs."

Harry could barely supress a laugh when Gwenog pulled out stick of ruby red lipstick and applied it carefully, before kissing the napkin right under her signature, leaving a perfect impression of her full lips. "He's a teenage boy, I'm sure he will appreciate it," she justified.

"The only thing he would love more is if he got a pair of your knickers or something," Harry joked.

"It's a sad thing that I'm not wearing any then," she teased, filling Harry's mind with images of what that would look like, "my boyfriend likes it that way… you'll understand when you're older Harry," she winked before leaving the room.

It took only a moment for Harry to regain his composure before following. But there was no trace of Gwenog upon exiting the storeroom, she must have left another way. He spotted Megan sitting with Katie across the room, the two of them looking to be in deep conversation about something. The rest of his friends seemed to have left the Three as he was about to exit in search of them, a large red-robbed figure stepped in his path.

"So you did take my advice, kid," Harry looked up to see the smiling face of Auror Fardale, "I saw you leave the same storage room that cute brunette did," he pointed to where Megan was sitting.

"We didn't do…"

"A bit of a risky choice if you ask me," he continued, cutting off Harry's protestations, "I'm sure Megan Jones over there is quite the catch, but I'd be afraid of that sister of hers. International quidditch star and all that," he pulled Harry over to a booth that immediately became vacant once the children saw an auror approaching. "I wouldn't want to find out what she could do with that bat of hers if you pissed her off."

"Oh shut up Heath, you're the last person who should be giving out dating advice, Veronica was very vocal about how your date went last week," Harry spotted a familiar head of spiky pink hair approaching, carrying an armful of Butterbeer. "Wotcher, Harry! I used to sneak Firewhisky from that storeroom and thought it odd that some Ravenclaw was leaving the room empty handed, had Fardale here watch the entrance for me."

"You two know each other?" Auror Fardale looked between his approaching partner and Harry.

"Yeah, err… I got into a spot of trouble on the train, and Tonks took me up to the castle."

"Turns out ol' Harry here is just as clumsy as me. Tripped and nearly knocked himself out on the train," she played along with the story, just as she tripped and nearly spilt the drinks all over herself, had she not caught the end of the table. "Well… almost as clumsy," her hair flashed through a rainbow of colours before setting on purple.

"Shouldn't you two be patrolling or something?" Harry enquired, as the two aurors were gulping down their Butterbeers.

"Just taking a break, Harry…" Fardale spoke up as he cast a _tempus_ charm, "a bit of a long one," he winced at the time, "but a break none the less."

"Not much really happens during the Hogsmeade patrols to begin with," Tonks shrugged.

"The residents of the village sent a request to the Ministry for auror presence once V-Voldemort returned. The Ministry couldn't deny the request since it's an all-wizarding village, so that's why we're here," Fardale added.

"Has there been much Death Eater activity?" Harry asked, looking at the male auror.

Fardale was silent for a moment, his eyes distant as if he were debating something in his mind, before he spoke up. "Listen Harry, I'm not like Conner, and I like you, but there are some things I can't say. But… I can tell you that the Prophet isn't reporting everything, and that there are more than just disappearances going on out there," he looked over nervously at Tonks, and let out a sigh of relief when she gave him a short nod.

"The war's not going well then?" Harry questioned, a pit of uneasiness settling in his stomach.

"I never said that," Fardale rubbed his face in his hands, "… things are going as expected. It's not much of a war right now. It's a poor way to describe it, but it's almost like we are playing a game right now. There's been a lot of poking and prodding between us and the Death Eaters, testing each other out, but nothing serious. Again, I wouldn't worry too much about it at the moment. Besides, you've got me and Tonks here right now, we've got everything under control," he put his feet up on the table.

Just as he finished speaking, a loud crash sounded from the opposite end of the bar. Glasses shattered, people's drinks were flying through the air, and shouts of anger came from a group of brawling wizards.

Fardale sighed before pulling out his wand and getting up off the bench, "I'll get this one," he headed over to go help Rosmerta clear the fight. "Oi, next idiot I see throw a punch will be marched through the Ministry naked!" Harry heard him threaten from across the room.

Turning back to Tonks, he felt a privacy charm go up. The feeling that washed over him when it was cast felt different to Gwenog's. It was hard to describe, but it felt more secure and powerful, and there was a low hum of pain weaved through the spell. Harry guessed the spell was meant to fight back if someone tried to dismantle it.

"Was he telling the truth?" Harry asked Tonks immediately.

"Pretty much," she shrugged, "or as much as he's able to comfortably tell you. He wasn't lying about confidentiality, Scrimgeour's doing his best to plug the holes in the Ministry. If me and Kingsley weren't as highly ranked in the Auror Office as we are, then we would be having a hell of a time trying to pass information over to the Order."

"What did he mean by there's more than disappearances going on?"

"Right now, Voldemort is playing with the Ministry. A lot of his plans were set back when the public became aware of his resurrection back in June. Scrimgeour has done a better job keeping him at bay than any of us had expected, but the question is how long he can keep it up. They are doing all they can to combat Death Eater activity and look into the disappearances around the country. The Ministry know there's more going on behind the scenes, but they just don't have the man power to look into it. That's what Fardale was hinting at."

"How long do you think Scrimgeour can keep the Ministry standing?"

"Honestly," Tonks paused, her face scrunched up in concentration, "it's hard to say. With the Order's help we can keep them going a lot longer than they would on their own, but we can't spend all of our time giving aid to the Ministry. Voldemort attacks from a lot of different angles, and there's only so much time we can devote to them. We're busy dealing with giants, werewolves, the goblins, anonymous pure-blood donors, Knockturn Alley activity, and so much other shit. I don't think anybody in the Order has had a proper nights rest in weeks," Harry could practically feel the stress and exhaustion coming off of Tonks. She hadn't looked good the last few times he had seen her, and she was only looking worse now. Her powers allowed her to hide most of it, but it was the subtle things that gave her away to Harry.

"What has he been up to?" Harry asked, relishing in the fact that Tonks was speaking openly to him as if they were equals. It was one of the things he loved about the metamorphmagus. She was honest, straightforward, and didn't dance around important topics. Just like Sirius, she thought he deserved to know what was going on.

"He's planning something," Tonks said with a frown, "we're not entirely sure what it is, but there's something big going on. Snape says Voldemort hasn't told him what it is and Dumbledore believes him, but I have my doubts," Tonks didn't bother keeping the distaste out of her words when talking about Snape. She mistrusted her former potions professor just as much as Sirius did, and it was hard to blame her. It was Snape's information, or lack thereof, that led to the death of Emmeline Vance over the summer. It was a hard blow to the Order, who used her position in high society to gain information on possible Death Eater sympathisers.

"When isn't the git doing something suspicious," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Speaking of Snape," Tonks perked up, "what exactly did you do to him?" she leaned in closer, putting her elbows on the table, knocking over an empty glass.

"Do to him?" Harry was confused with the question.

"Just a couple of weeks ago, I was minding my own business having a cup of tea in headquarters before a meeting when he burst into the house cursing your name. It took Dumbledore ten minutes to get him to calm down before we could start. You'd have thought you shampooed his hair while he was sleeping or something…" she joked.

"Oh," realization dawned on Harry, he knew exactly what she was referring to, "there was a bit of an.. incident in class where I almost choked him to death with conjured chains."

Had Tonks had anything in her mouth, she would have spat it all over him. Instead, she sprayed the side of his face with speckles of spit. "You did what!?" she half shouted incredulously.

"We were practicing silent casting, when he came up to me and casted a spell that I had never seen before. He caught me completely by surprise, so I reacted on instinct and dodged it before retaliating. But apparently, my _Incarcerous_ came out as heavy-linked chains instead of rope, and it shot straight at his throat."

Tonks burst out laughing, and was slamming the table with the palms of her hands. Her hair was changing faster than the eye could see, and tears were shooting out of her eyes like a fountain. It reminded him of how cartoon characters cried when Dudley used to watch them when they were younger. "Merlin, Harry! Have I ever told you how much I love you," she started to cough from laughing so hard, "I have dreamed of hexing Snape for years, I'm so glad one of us got to do it," she wiped the residual tears that stained her cheeks.

"It's a bloody shame he broke them before they hit." Then again, he remembered the look of absolute fury on Snape's face. Perhaps he wouldn't be standing here right now if it did hit Snape, he was a 'reformed' Death Eater, he certainly wasn't opposed to murder. "I think I'd better go," Harry quickly stood as he spotted Auror Fardale finally putting an end to the fight, purposefully knocking two of the wizards heads together. "It was good seeing you Tonks," he smiled as he gave the auror a quick hug.

"See ya, Harry, I'm never too far away if you need me," Tonks replied before heading up to go join her partner.

As Harry stepped outside, he shivered as a gust of wind caught him from behind. Summer was ending, and Harry could practically feel autumn approaching. It was his least favorite season, and he found himself wishing that the horrible year he had been having would come to a close soon. It was at times like these that Harry was grateful for having Tonks as a friend, and he hoped that whatever sadness lingered in her life would soon disappear.

He didn't mention to her the flashbacks he experienced when Snape shot the unfamiliar spell at him. It reminded him of something called PTSD Hermione had mentioned once, that a lot of war veterans experienced. If anybody would understand how much that night haunted him, it would be Tonks, but still he could not find it within himself to talk about what happened in Snape's classroom.

The first day of classes had started so well, with him winning the vial of Felix, but it only went downhill from there. The defense class had been disastrous, and his encounter with Trelawney was disturbing to say the least. He hadn't seen the divination professor since their run in, nor had he sought after her like she requested. The woman had caused enough hardship in his life, and he did not want to give her the opportunity to cause anymore.

In the effort to keep his mind from her haunting words, he had immersed himself in the books Dumbledore had passed on to him. The text written by one of Dumbledore's family members had him hanging on to each and every word. There was very little spell work discussed within, other than the odd bits of advice on improving the efficiency of certain transfigurations, and controlling the effects of charms. The book mainly focused on magic itself. It was largely philosophical and questioned the origins of magic, its purpose in the world, and the way it is utilized by wizards. Rather than center itself on a certain topic, the book was a collection of musings on what it meant to be a wizard and the relationship one had with the magic in the world.

It was a fascinating read, and that was saying something, since Harry was never one to take much interest in magical theory. But something about the book connected with him on a deep level, forever changing his perspective on magic.

He had spent hours reading and re-reading passages, as well as looking through the Prince's book. His potions textbook had suggestions and alterations on almost every page, that were meant to improve the longevity and potency of the potions, amongst other things. A lot of the information was far too advanced for him and went right over his head, but he would continue to follow its instructions. The mysterious prince had yet to fail him thus far, as he continued to be one of the top performing students much to Slughorn's contentment.

What really caught his attention in the Prince's book, were the suggestions scribbled into the margins meant to improve a person's silent casting and duelling technique. He found some of the information within to be more valuable than a lot of what he had read in actual defense textbooks.

He spent a lot of free time in the Room of Requirement, practicing his casting, implementing what he had learnt from the Prince and Dumbledore's book, and he could already see the differences. There was a feeling of unadulterated power that flowed through him as he shot spell after spell at what the room created for him. It came off him in waves and it was intoxicating. He would lose track of time during those moments when he was lost in the feeling of his own magic. There had been one evening when he left the room, only to find that it was almost time to wake up for classes that morning.

There was a control to his casting he had never experienced before. Charms burst from his wand responding to his emotion better than they had ever before. His work in transfiguration was that much more precise, transforming with a sharpness he had only ever seen from McGonagall and Dumbledore. He could almost feel the material morphing into its intended form, like a potter would with clay. It was an art form, something he had never considered before.

Harry had even attempted a few of the spells found within the Prince's book. There was a nonverbal spell _Levicorpus_ , that hung somebody upside down ten feet up in the air by their ankles. Another hex cause someone's nails to grow alarmingly fast, as described in the book. Harry had never heard of most of these spells, and he was beginning to fall under the impression that the Prince had invented them himself. He was a genius, which was why it was surprising that so many of the spells appeared to be meant as pranks. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought his father or Sirius had invented most of the spells.

What was disconcerting about the book was the collection of spells specifically designed to harm the target. There was a spell inside described to break a person's nose in the most painful way possible, along with its counter curse. Another was meant to target a person's nervous system, to simulate the feeling of a dog biting their leg. Harry cringed reading that one, thinking back to Aunt Marge's dog Ripper. The spell labelled _For Enemies_ , consistently tested his self-control, as he found himself itching to try it out on Snape at least twice every defense class.

 _Crack_

The telltale sound of apparition caught Harry's attention, as he travelled through the village. Spinning around, Harry searched for the source of the sound.

Harry's heart nearly stopped.

He blinked. Not believing what he was seeing, he blinked again, but his vision did not change. It had to be true, but he couldn't see how that was possible. It made no sense to him. Why was she there? How could she be striding through Hogsmeade without anyone batting an eyelid?

Walking directly from where he had just come from, was Bellatrix Lestrange. Dressed in black from head to toe, she moved gracefully through the streets of Hogsmeade. There was an air of importance around her, her nose held high, eyes focused on a single destination, the way most purebloods hold themselves in public. Her devastating beauty was on full display, clearly having fully recovered from her stint in Azkaban.

But whatever beauty she had on the outside, there was none on the inside. She was a vile and treacherous woman. Completely mad, but in a terrifyingly dangerous way. He remembered how she cackled as she cursed Tonks, her own niece, and giggled with glee when Sirius fell through the veil. She was the woman who killed his godfather. The same woman who ruined Neville's life. She told him he needed to _mean it_ when casting the Cruciatus Curse, and he intended to show her that he took her lesson to heart.

His heart was racing now, his magic pumping furiously through his veins. _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ held some horrid pieces of magic within its pages, and if anybody deserved to be on the receiving end of some of those spells, it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Just as he was about to take off after her, a soft voice caught his attention.

"Harry…"

Harry turned and met the dreamy gaze of Luna. "Harry Potter, are you alright?" her voice floated to his ears.

Harry didn't answer. He turned back in the direction of Bellatrix, only to see that she had disappeared. Harry paled. He didn't know what street she went down, where she was going, or what she was doing. What if someone ran into her? He didn't want to think about the horrors she could put someone through.

"You look as if you have seen a ghost, Harry," she stared up at him quizzically, "Then again, maybe you did, I know that Sir Nicholas sometimes likes to travel outside the castle. It's a bit of a silly question don't you think, asking a wizard if they have seen a ghost? A muggle told daddy that saying once. They say some of the funniest things sometimes."

"Yeah… they do," Harry replied without thinking, still trying to process what he had seen. He hadn't heard any spell fire or screams, perhaps everything would be okay. Perhaps he simply had another flashback like the one he had in Snape's classroom. At least he hoped so.

"I think that's how I would react if I ever caught a Snorkack…" she trailed off as they stood there in silence for a moment, both staring out in the distance, "I think I'm going to go search for a three-legged Warblung now, they are easiest to find when you can't see them," she said suddenly, pulling a blue bandana over her eyes. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have a letter for you form Professor Dumbledore, he made it sound rather important," she pulled a piece of parchment out of a self-made pocket in her skirt. "Bye, Harry," she called, as she walked away with the bandana still over her eyes.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I feel as if tonight would be a good night for one of our private lessons. Kindly stop by my office at 9 PM for what I anticipate to be a fascinating evening._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S. I have become rather fond of a muggle candy called Haribo_

The gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office slid silently out of the way after being given the password. It was an odd choice in Harry's opinion, as Dumbledore usually picked wizarding candies, but Dumbledore was an odd man to say the least.

"Enter," Harry heard the headmasters voice through the door as he climbed the final steps.

Walking through the double doors, Harry spotted the old wizard standing in the corner of his office, staring thoughtfully out a large window that overlooked the Forbidden Forest. He was petting a baby Fawkes sitting on his shoulder with his gloved hand. His purple robes twinkled in the fading light of the evening, and clashed horribly with an odd green hat he was wearing in the place of his normal wizard's one.

"A new accessory?" Harry smiled as he eyed the odd piece of headwear.

"Oh," the headmaster's startling blue eyes looked upwards behind his half-moon glasses, "I had forgotten I was still wearing this funny thing," he clearly hadn't. The question was why was he wearing the hat. "It was one of the more interesting items I acquired on my recent travels. It is a Tyrolean hat in case you were wondering; worn by some of the more traditional Bavarian wizards. It looks much better alongside a pair of lederhosen," Dumbledore chuckled as he ran his hands down the front of his robes.

"Why were you travelling, sir?"

"It seemed that young William needed a bit of my insight in the more esoteric and ancient fields of magic. William will be returning in a few short weeks, which will be a boost for the Order, and I am sure a young French witch will be happy with that as well."

Harry nodded, although he didn't particularly care when Bill was coming home.

"You mustn't tell Minerva, but I extended my trip a few days to catch some of the sights. A little holiday, if you will," the old wizard smirked as Harry shook his head in amusement. "However, as much as I wish to discuss my love for travel, I feel we must continue on to more pressing topics."

"Sir, before we begin, there's something I need to tell you," Harry spoke up. Ever since he caught her figure in Hogsmeade earlier that day, Harry's mind couldn't stop trying to figure out what she was up to. "I saw Bellatrix Lestrange in Hogsmeade today, but she vanished before I could do anything."

"Did you now?" Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows quirked, "And Harry, I more than anyone else know how capable a wizard you are, but take heed of my words, approaching Miss Lestrange is almost as dangerous as approaching Tom himself… do not do so lightly."

"I know, sir, but she was right there… and Siri-"

"Harry, I grieve for what Bellatrix did to Sirius, and I fear I will never be rid of the guilt that plagues me for my part in what happened that night, but do not let vengeance consume you. But to ease your conscious, I will let you know that Severus has word that Bellatrix is currently on a mission on the continent."

"Sir, I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but what if he's-"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "I know you and Severus have your… differences, but I have faith in him. This information in particular, I trust he was telling the truth."

"But I saw her!"

"Where?" Dumbledore enquired calmly.

"Near the Three Broomsticks when I was making my way back to the castle," Harry answered. He expected Dumbledore to ask him another question, or remind him of Snape's trustworthiness, but the last thing he expected him to do was smile. A smile wrinkly smile worked its way on the headmaster's lips, and his eyes began to twinkle. "My boy, sometimes we see what we want to see, and not the truth that sits before our very eyes. You can trust me when I say that Bellatrix Lestrange was not in Hogsmeade this afternoon."

"I know what I saw, sir," Harry mumbled as he scuffed his foot against the floor.

"Now, moving on, I must ask if you have looked through the books I had passed onto you when we last met?"

Harry nodded. "I found the text written by one of your ancestors to be fascinating. I had never thought of magic like that before. I always considered it as a method of escape, a way to separate myself from the Dursley's. It made me feel different from them, like they weren't as close family as they were. But now I feel like a fool for thinking so simply about the gift I was born with."

A sad look settled on Dumbledore's aged face for a moment before it returned to its usual state. "The book was written quite a long time ago, but not long enough to be one of my ancestors," he chuckled, "I am proud to have been the product of such a remarkable wizard."

"Your father wrote that book?" Harry asked curiously, never having heard anything about Dumbledore's family before.

"Yes, Percival Dumbledore… a brilliant man if there ever was. Whatever titles the world has deemed to heap on me, they could have given him thrice as many. Alas, he never had time for popularity and the honours of others, choosing only to pass his knowledge onto his children. It was always his dream to own a goat farm, to live a quiet life in the countryside with his family," Dumbledore's voice was as light as a feather, as he thought back on his late father.

"Vengeance, Harry, vengeance was his downfall, like so many before. I speak from my heart when I give you warning. I have lived a life filled with mistakes, and have witnessed thousands more, I only wish to keep you from doing the same. It was a moment of madness that brought upon my father's end. Three dead muggle boys, killed for their sins, and my father was sent to rot in Azkaban. The greatest mind in centuries, ravaged by Dementors until nothing was left."

"I had no idea, sir, why doesn't anybody know of this?"

"Secrets, Harry, secrets. Us Dumbledore's know how to keep them well… we always have," he paused, tears brimming on the edge of his aged eyes. "You are the first to have read that book since I did upon clearing out my father's study after my graduation. Spells are important, but I have found that the mind behind the casting and their intimate understanding of the wild nature of magic to be more so."

"Would you mind if I keep it longer, there were a few passages I was looking to examine further?" Harry asked.

"What is mine, is also yours, my boy. If we are to eventually defeat Tom, it will require a close partnership. There will be a number of items I will be bequeathing you as the year goes on."

"Thank you, sir, but are you sure there isn't someone else? Half the population of the world would trade their wand arm to get their hands on anything you own."

"I have no heirs, Harry, the Dumbledore line will come to an end. It's about time if you asked me, we really were too brilliant for our own good," the two of them shared a laugh knowing it was true. "Much of what I have acquired throughout my long life will need to find a new home one day, and I can't think of an individual more deserving than you for it to be passed on to."

"Sir, you're speaking as if you are planning your own funeral. I always imagined you out living us all," Harry tried to lighten the mood, but he couldn't rid the unsettling feeling that filled the room.

"Don't mind me, when you get to my age, you think of these things as if they are pedestrian affairs. I'm fairly certain Professor Binns is still planning his will, and he has been dead for centuries."

"Have you looked through the other text I passed on to you?" Dumbledore continued after a slight pause in conversation.

"I have… not as much as the other one though, sir. I don't particularly feel comfortable reading it," Harry admitted. In truth, he had continued to make his way through the Dark Arts book, but could only do so in intervals. It was gruesome in every way imaginable.

"I would be worried if you were; however, I must ask you to put more emphasis on your journey into the darkest parts of magic, it is more important than you can imagine. I will stop you before you start," Dumbledore raised his hand before Harry could speak out, "The world is not black and white, Harry. There are the Light Arts and the Dark Arts, but neither are inherently good or inherently evil. I myself have delved into the depths of each, experimented with forbidden magics, and used them both in different times of my life. The wards I placed around your home were derived from a sacrificial ritual between kin," Dumbledore chuckled at Harry's expression.

"There is a time and a place for everything, my boy. It is the intent that matters, and the control to manage the emotions behind said intent. Would it surprise you to find out that Professor Slughorn is one of the leading experts in the Dark Arts in all of Britain?"

"Slughorn? But he's the potions professor."

"As was Professor Snape, Harry. A man is entitled to his own hobbies. But as I mentioned before, Horace might not look it, but he has more knowledge of the forbidden arts than some of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters. He was always an ambitious man, but unlike others, he had the control to reel himself back in before treading too far in places no man should ever go. Knowledge, without intent, is simply knowledge; and knowledge is the key to the game we find ourselves playing."

"I'll take my reading more seriously, sir," Harry felt a sense of shame building inside him for not realizing the importance of the tome Dumbledore had given him. It was a shocking to hear Dumbledore say those things. From the moment he had entered the Wizarding World, he had been told to be weary of the dark. His first two friends, Hagrid and Ron, spoke so passionately against the dark arts and those who wielded them. But hadn't he broken through those prejudices before? He had ignored people's warnings of Slytherins and befriended them. The hat had told him he would have been great in Slytherin. The words of Ollivander from when he bought his wand rang through his head. Was greatness truly worth the risk of doing terrible things? It was all so confusing to him.

He had finally reached a new point in his relationship with Dumbledore, and had already failed him. _He was weak_. How could Dumbledore ever look at him like an equal, if he could hardly stomach a book Dumbledore, Slughorn, and Snape would consider some light reading before breakfast.

He had cast the Cruciatus Curse for Merlin's sake, there was no reason for him to fear the darkness. He knew what true evil was, he had faced it countless times and survived.

In that moment, Harry knew what held him back. It was a certain fear that played over and over in his mind. It was the voice of a snake that called for damnation. It was the voice of a devil.

The next time he confronted a Boggart, he was certain it would not take the shape of a Dementor. His greatest fear had changed long ago. The voice in his head, that sounded so much like Voldemort, promised him they would become one and the same. That they were destined to be equals, two sides of the same coin, monsters in their own right.

But deep within himself, Harry fought tooth and nail against those thoughts. He believed in himself, and who he could become. He believed in Dumbledore, despite the relationship between the two of them never being able to reach the heights it could have been. However, greatness could still be achieved. Dumbledore cared for him, as did Ron, Hermione, Tonks, and so many others. They would allow him to turn into the monster that murdered his parents, before turning his wand on an innocent babe.

He knew love, and that is what made the difference.

No matter what would happen to him in the future, or what he was destined to become; he would not turn into Lord Voldemort. He was not Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"I know you will, Harry, you have yet to ever let me down," a proud smile adorned the old wizards face.

The two stood in companionable silence for a while, with only the cooing of Fawkes and the ticking of Dumbledore's silver instruments breaking the peace. That was until Harry spoke up, "Sir, before we begin, I was wondering if you could look over a book I found?" Harry asked tentatively as he pulled out his battered copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. "It's my potions textbook, but it's filled with markings," he passed it over to Dumbledore, who took it in his gloved hand, "I just wanted to know if they were correct and safe enough to use."

Dumbledore flipped through the book for a few minutes, his facial expression never changing. "Where did you say you found this book?"

"I found it in a cabinet in the potions classroom. There's a label inside the front cover saying it belongs to the Half-blood Prince."

Dumbledore started at the name, quickly flipping back through a collection of pages, "Hmm, I thought so… always the flair for the dramatic," he chuckled, before looking back at Harry with his twinkling eyes. "A dark and tortured soul used to own this book, Harry, a bright student who only saw the light when it was too late."

"So you know who the Prince is?" Harry asked.

"That I do," Dumbledore handed Harry the book back.

"Will you tell me?"

"I will not," he answered simply. "I believe the quest in finding the identity of your mysterious author will be more satisfying than me simply telling you. Sometimes there are things in life we must find out for ourselves if we wish to grow as humans. The book is safe to use, however. You should count yourself very fortunate for falling into possession of it."

"So everything inside is correct?"

"I would say it is more than correct, Harry. If you follow your textbook, Horace will be pleased to see that you will maintain your top position in his class."

"Isn't that a bit like cheating, sir?" Harry enquired, thinking back to Hermione's accusations.

"What Horace doesn't know won't hurt him," Dumbledore winked. "I will warn you though, that some of the spells inside are inherently dark in nature. As I said earlier, the owner was never a kind person. However, I believe it is nothing you can't handle, but be wary of your surroundings when testing them out."

"I believe it is time to move onto the main event of the evening," Dumbledore announced as he took Fawkes from his shoulder and placed his friend on a cushion underneath his perch. "I had originally planned to show you a particular memory this evening, but then I thought, why settle for one thing when we can accomplish both."

Dumbledore searched through the top drawer of his desk before pulling out a cloth pouch and a crystal vial. He also took out a small plastic package, before offering it out to Harry, "Some Haribo for the road, Harry?"

Harry popped a few in his mouth, as Dumbledore stuffed the package, along with the other items into the pocket of his robes.

"We will be apparating to our destination tonight," seeing the questioning look on Harry's face, he continued, "Headmaster's privileges, my boy. Do refrain from bragging to miss Granger," he added as if reading Harry's thoughts. "Tonight is a night for hands on experience. Your wand if you please," he requested.

Upon taking his holly wand out of its holster, Dumbledore waved his wand in an intricate pattern over top while muttering underneath his breath. "That should hold us for this evening," he continued to stare at Harry's wand, admiring his work.

"What did you do?"

"In layman's terms, I hoodwinked the Ministry's trace on your wand for a limited time."

"I thought that was impossible?"

"Difficult, yes… but impossible? No." Dumbledore held out his arm, as he looked at Harry with pride in his eyes, "As the year progresses, my dear boy, you will come to notice how conventional rules do not apply to exceptional figures like ourselves," he finished, before they suddenly disappeared without a sound and were travelling hundreds of kilometers away towards a place with an unpleasant history.

 **AN**

 **Hello everyone, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I apologize for it coming out a bit later than expected. I originally planned for this chapter and the next to be released together, but halfway through, I realized the chapter would be absolutely massive. I like to keep my chapter lengths a bit on the longer side, but still manageable to get through in one sitting.**

 **I can't wait to finish the next chapter and get it out for you guys. I'm very excited about it, and am having so much fun writing it. You'll get to see Dumbledore and Harry in action as they begin their journey together, both training Harry and combating Voldemort. The relationship between the two of them will continue to grow and change over time, and is one of the major points I will be exploring.**

 **Quite a few things happened in this chapter, some subtle, and others not so much. There are a lot of little things going on, and it will be interesting to see if anybody manages to pick them out. Some of them are a part of great reveals and later plot points, while others are simple little easter eggs.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, I read and respect them all. Let me know your thoughts on what happened this chapter, where the two of them are going and what is going to happen next. Any other comments and suggestions are appreciated as well.**

 **Before you ask where the hell is Fleur? I will tell you that she is appearing very, very soon.**

 **Until next time.**


	7. Chapter 7

It must have painted an absurd picture, seeing the two of them like this. He could only imagine what a muggle would think if they passed by in that moment. To his right stood the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore, dressed in the most outrageous outfit he had dared yet, eating handfuls of muggle gummi bears; while he stood there in a pair of ratty old trainers, ripped jeans, and an oversized Puddlemere United sweater. They made an odd pair to say the least.

What made the situation queerer, was the fact the two of them were standing in an abandoned street that was doing its best impression of a garbage dump. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, used syringes, and countless other pieces of trash littered the street, creating some sort of post-apocalyptic mosaic art piece.

"Where are we, sir?" Harry inquired as he kicked an empty can out of his way, he paused listening to it clink as it rolled into the darkness and out of sight.

"We are in a place that was left to be forgotten," Dumbledore spoke as he began to travel in the direction of small rusted gate at the far end of the street, "Whether it was intentionally made so, or simply faded from thought through the annals of time, will be determined shortly."

Wherever they were heading, it was certainly no place pleasant. The sun was still setting along the horizon, splashing the sky with deep purple strokes. However, the remaining light seemed to suspiciously disappear faster with each step they took.

The only way Harry could describe the area, was unnatural. As they stepped through the gate, letting it swing close with a sharp screech, they became fully shrouded in darkness.

Willow trees lined each side of the beaten path they were following, rustling softly in the breeze, whispering to one another in a language long forgotten. There was a feeling of dread in the air, not unlike that of a Dementor, and a frigid chill settled at the base of Harry's spine.

"There's something wrong with this place, professor. Something terrible happened here at some point… it feels evil," Harry stated, as he fingered his wand.

"You are correct Harry; our destination tonight is one with a dark past," Dumbledore turned a corner, and Harry spotted the roof of a decrepit Victorian aged building peaking over the trees. "No action is without consequence, and what you are feeling in the air is the product of what has come before. All magic leaves a trace… especially magic used in evil and malicious ways. The negative energy created by pain does not simply disappear, it clings to whatever it can, hoping to spread its influence to anything it can find."

As they approached the building, Harry was able to see just how far it had fallen into disrepair. What once must have been a handsome mansion, now only looked to be a shadow of itself. The windows were boarded up, the formerly white-painted exterior was now charcoal black and peeling, and there were massive holes in the roof in places where shingles should have been. It did not look safe to enter.

"Do you know why we are here?" Dumbledore asked from beside him.

"This is where Voldemort grew up isn't it, sir?" Harry answered.

"And how do you know this?" Harry could hear the smile in his voice, a teacher proud of his student.

"I can… feel him. I know that he's not really here, but at the same time, it _feels_ like he is. But he feels different, not as powerful… or not as malevolent as he did at the Ministry. He is just as dark and twisted, but _juvenile_ in a way."

"Yes, I can feel him as well. Tom's magic always did have a unique feel to it. He managed to hide the true extent of his nature for a long time, but the signs were there, even when he was still a young boy living in a muggle orphanage."

"It's hard to imagine Voldemort living here, or ever being a child." It was strange thinking that Voldemort had once been a babe, innocent to the world. It was much easier to imagine him looking like the hellish homunculus being carried in Wormtail's arms in the graveyard.

"I would imagine so… but not for me," Dumbledore admitted as they climbed the stone steps of the orphanage. "There are still times when I think of Tom as the boy I met here all those years ago," he sighed causing his aged shoulders to droop, "I suppose it is the curse of an educator, to continue to think of them as your students, no matter who or what they become."

The two of them stood in what used to be a foyer converted into a waiting room. There was a collection of wooden chairs, rotted and missing legs, strewn across the room, and a small weather-beaten desk next to an office. A large staircase dominated the center of the room, directly leading into the inky blackness of the floors above.

"If you would please," Dumbledore extended his hand out in the direction of the stairs, indicating Harry to proceed.

It was Harry who led the way upstairs, the steps creaking and groaning, and threatening to collapse beneath their feet if stepped on in the wrong place. Shadows shrouded him like a cloak, as he lit his wand with barely a thought, illuminating only enough to see the floor just in front of his trainers.

It was impossible to know where they were going, he might as well have been blindfolded for all that he could see in front of him. Maybe they would run into that Warblung creature Luna mentioned earlier, she did say they were easiest to find when you couldn't see.

Despite all of this, Harry felt himself drawn down each hallway, almost as if he instinctively knew where to go next. For whatever reason, he had the feeling he had walked these halls before. He knew he hadn't, but the thought just wouldn't leave his mind.

Dumbledore was right when he said magic leaves traces. The negative energy in the air was thick, to the point that he was afraid he would choke on it whenever he took in a breath. Tendrils of magic lined the walls, crawling in an unnatural way and emitting their sinister aura. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The pain, the despair, and the fear, it was almost unbearable. The emotions hit him with the force of the Hogwarts Express, screaming like its whistle, trying to dig their hideous claws into him.

It made him sick, the influence they were trying to exert over him. He fought with his mind, sweat dribbling out of his pores, each step becoming more and more of a struggle to take. What had happened here? What evil acts did Tom Riddle perform in his former home? He could feel his stomach churning, his head pounding… or was that his scar? He could hardly tell in the moment.

His eyes slammed shut as pain tore through his mind, but when he opened them he wasn't standing in the orphanage anymore. He was in the graveyard again, dressed in the dueling robes he had worn that night. Cedric was there as well, dressed in the yellow and black of the house he represented so well. It hurt Harry more than he could have ever imagined seeing kind, noble, and handsome Cedric beside him again. A truer Hufflepuff had never been sorted.

Cedric was smiling at him, without a care in the world, and all Harry wanted to do was scream at him to run away, but he couldn't. There was a flash of green, and his friend was dead. They had promised to make it a Hogwarts victory, to win together, and they did, but only one made it back alive.

His body was moving without his control, walking slowly towards the boiling cauldron in front of the grave of Tom Riddle Sr. He knew what was inside, what was coming next, and it angered him. It angered him that so many lives were lost fighting that monster, and he refused to stay dead. Why had he come back, when so many others, more deserving, did not?

Standing in front of the cauldron that birthed his worst nightmare, and was the tool of Voldemort's resurrection, Harry knew he could stop it before it all began. He could feel a fire burning in his wand as it sang through the air like a Phoenix, his vision filling with a white flash of light that burst from his wand. But instead of a loud bang and the destruction of the cauldron like he expected, he was simply blinded by the light.

It took a while for him to regain his bearings, the world was spinning around him like a broom falling out of the sky. It was hard for him to be cognizant of anything other than his own nausea and light headedness. As his senses slowly came to him, he could feel the roughness of the shredded wallpaper on his hands, the only thing keeping him upright.

Droplets of sweat slid from the tip of his nose and chin, while he fought to regain his breath. He looked up in that moment, and was met with the worried gaze of his headmaster. "I was in the graveyard… Voldemort, the cauldron… I destroyed it. What happened?" he gasped, his mind a muddled mess.

"Evil does as it always has when confronted by those who are not afraid," Dumbledore replied softly, Harry could feel his gloved hand supporting him on his back. "It preys on our weaknesses, our failures and regrets… the moments we wish to forget," Harry could see the bags under his headmaster's eyes, and the frailty hidden beneath it all.

"What did you see?" Harry asked, knowing he wasn't the only one affected by this horrible place.

"You are smarter than anyone gives you credit for my boy," Dumbledore chuckled. "To answer your question," he started solemnly, "I lived a memory that has haunted me for decades. A moment I would give anything to go back and change, but alas I cannot. I will never forgive myself for what occurred that afternoon, but I can do what I can to make up for the fool I used to be."

"I hate this place," Harry simply said.

"I do as well," Dumbledore agreed, "but unfortunately we must continue," he ruffled his hand through Harry's hair trying to clear some of the dust out of it, but only managed to make it look worse. "Let us hope there aren't any birds around," he laughed upon seeing the disgruntled look on Harry's face as he tried to flatten his nest of hair to no avail.

"We're almost there," Harry spoke up. Voldemort's room was close by; he could feel it.

"Yes, I believe you are correct, I see a familiar face just over there," Dumbledore pointed to a dust covered painting hanging crookedly off the wall. It was extensively damaged, the man's white robes barely distinguishable on the cracked and yellowing canvas. "He looked much better upon my last visit. Pope Pius I believe… I'm not sure which one, the tenth maybe, or the eleventh? It is hard to keep track, I have lived through many of them," he mused to himself, twirling his silver beard with his wand.

Voldemort's aura became stronger and stronger as they approached the end of the hall. The source came from the room second to last on the left. Harry wasn't sure what he expected when entering the room, but he didn't think it would look so _ordinary._ It was small and simple, about the size of his bedroom in Privet Drive. There was a wooden frame for a bed, the mattress was no longer there, along with a wardrobe and a single chair.

"Not as comfortable as my office, but it will do," Dumbledore said as he lowered himself onto the chair, leaving Harry the bedframe. "I have a memory to show you, and I thought it rather fitting for us to view it together where it had originally taken place," Dumbledore reached into his robes, removing the cloth bag he had brought along.

"You didn't bring your pensieve, sir," Harry pointed out.

"It's true, I did not, but I did bring this," Dumbledore reached into the bag and pulled out a crystal vial and a small mirror. The mirror was rimmed with hand etched runes, and released an ethereal glow, like a full moon on a clear night. "I invented this," he held up the mirror, "a few years ago when I wanted to show an old friend a particularly fond memory from my one-hundredth birthday party. My pensieve is a tad too large to carry around, thus I made one I could," he explained as he poured his memory onto the surface of the mirror.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore enquired, in which Harry nodded in confirmation. The milky glass of the mirror rippled under their touch, before transporting them to the day Tom Riddle learnt about the existence of magic.

* * *

"Did you know?" The question weighed heavily in the tense air. Such a simple question, with such severe consequences.

The content of the memory was fascinating, if not a little disturbing. Wool's Orphanage was not a happy place to begin with, but Tom Riddle somehow managed to make it even more miserable. He could see the makings of the teenage Riddle he met in the Chamber of Secrets, in the little boy whose room they were sitting in right now. The same arrogance, self-interest, and twisted sense of vengeance were all there. He was a brilliant child, there was no doubt about that, but already he was putting his talents to the wrong uses.

He held no sympathy for the boy, for he wanted none, and deserved it even less.

"Did I know I had just spoken to the worst Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries? Did I know this boy would grow up to murder students, colleagues, and dear friends of mine, all in the name of his own perverted sense of superiority?" Dumbledore's eyes darkened, matching the atmosphere of the room, "I did not."

"It seems so obvious looking back at it now."

"It does, doesn't it. But in the moment, all I saw was a troubled child."

"He was hurting the other children!" Harry never had any time for bullies. How did Dumbledore not see him for the monster he was?

"Harry, you better than most know the pain children can cause one another."

"And who do I have to thank for that!" Harry's temper flared, before dampening quickly seeing Dumbledore wince.

"I apologize, Harry, it was not my intention to spe-"

"It's fine. Sir," Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore gave a weak smile before continuing, "Tom used his control over magic to punish those he felt had wronged him. As you saw, I admonished him, and made it very clear that what he was doing would not be tolerated at Hogwarts. I am curious to see if you caught what happened afterwards?"

"His entire demeanor shifted. Whatever innocence he was feigning disappeared, and he closed himself off, like he perceived you as a threat."

"At the time, I had thought he was being a petulant child not liking being told what to do, but I was wrong. I was an obstacle in his path. Back then, I was blocking him from exacting petty revenge; and when he grew older, it was me preventing him from spreading his ideologies and subjugating Britain to his rule."

"He feared you."

"He did," Dumbledore nodded, "he feared what I knew about him. He feared me for the knowledge I held of where he came from and who he was. Tom hid his emotions well. He blinded everyone with his brilliance, always keeping them an arm's length away to prevent them from learning anything about who he truly was. I was never fooled."

"Just like when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and Myrtle was killed. He told me in the chamber that you were the only one who suspected. He said you knew too much."

"Precisely. There was never a doubt in my mind that Tom was guilty for the crimes pitted against Hagrid, but as Transfiguration Professor at that time there was nothing I could do. The case was closed, they said, let it rest. I did what I could by giving Hagrid a job and a home when I was eventually named Headmaster."

"He says you are the greatest man he's ever known. Almost killed my uncle when he insulted you," Harry smiled at the memory of Hagrid intimidating Vernon that night, and later giving Dudley a tail.

"It warm's my heart to here such kind words," his blue eyes glistened. "To continue my story, by the time Miss Warren had been killed, it was too late. Tom was no longer the same boy who could be scared by a flaming wardrobe, he had grown immensely over the years and I had not checked in often enough. Much of my attention was forced on the war at that time," a devastated look crossed his lined face, "and bombings in London on the muggle side of things made it nearly impossible to communicate with Miss Cole of the orphanage."

"I had completely forgotten about the war."

"Unfortunately, many do," there was a pregnant pause in the room, the shadows rippling around the dim lights of their wands. "In the monster that is Lord Voldemort, there is only a fraction of fear reserved for me in the sliver of Tom Riddle that remains, but there is one other thing he fears above all else."

"Death. He fears death above all else, you can see it when he mentions his mother dying."

"Love is a gift and a curse, as beautiful as it is ugly. Those who live without it should be pitied, and those who deny it are damned. Merope Gaunt loved her son fiercely, giving her life for his, not unlike your own mother, Harry. But Tom did not see it this way… he could not. In his eyes, his mother was weak, and only the weak could die. It was through his mother that his fear of death was born."

"But what is there to fear? Clearly he saw that there is some sort of afterlife, otherwise how could there be ghosts," Harry reasoned.

"Ah, Harry, but you forget that Tom cares only for power. Who is to say what the next great adventure has in store for us. What if in the afterlife we are all made equals? Death would take away what made him _special_. He knew what he could accomplish here on this plane, and was terrified of losing it all."

"Years after Tom disappeared I managed to contact Mrs. Cole a final time, and what I learned shocked me. As the years of the war passed by, with each bombing, each day with less food, and with each close brush with death, his fear increased exponentially. They were dark times in Britain and terrifying for Tom, thus he took it out on those around him. He ruled the orphanage by fear in the summers when he returned from Hogwarts, torturing, experimenting, and twisting the very nature of people in on themselves until they went mad. He took pleasure in their suffering, it gave him a sense of power in a world where he had none."

"That's sick! They were only-"

"Defenceless orphaned children, whose lives were worse off than Tom's. Children who did not have magic, who did not get sent to an exclusive boarding school, some whose parents did not love them, and others forced to live off the street," he finished for Harry. "His actions were abhorrent, but he has done much worse since then… much, much worse," Dumbledore's eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead.

"How did he cheat death professor?" Harry asked the question that had been burning in his mind since the night of the third task.

"A question we will be exploring on another night, Harry, I believe we have discussed enough for this one, as it grows late. If we were to start now, we would not be able to do it justice, and the information I will be passing on to you is too valuable to be misinterpreted and misunderstood as a result of a tired mind."

"I understand, sir. I just don't want to be kept in the dark."

"All will be revealed, Harry, I swear this to you," green eyes met blue as the two wizards shared a moment of honesty.

The building was completely silent, eerily so, as they left Tom's room and made their way back out of the orphanage. Harry was relieved; he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay inside without going mad. He swore he saw the shadows move, fluttering like a capes in the wind, teasing him with their stalking dance.

"Quickly now, Harry, I believe we have outstayed our welcome," Dumbledore spoke with a hint of urgency in his voice.

"Sir, what is going on?" Harry asked, sounding worried. Did Voldemort know they had come here? The thought sent dread tingling down his spine, his mind flashing to the last meeting between the three of them.

Dumbledore didn't answer, instead choosing to tug on Harry's shoulder, pulling him down a hallway they hadn't gone through before. His long ornamented wand hung loosely by his side, as he closed his eyes, his head cocked to the side as if listening to something. "Indeed, our presence has been noted," he muttered to himself.

Harry couldn't hear a thing; the orphanage had remained as silent as before. Where were the Death Eaters? Surely he would have heard them by now, or at least felt the presence of their magic.

"Wand out Harry," there was a steel to voice.

It was as he gripped his holy and phoenix feather wand, that he heard it for the first time. At any other time, he would have dismissed it as a trick of the mind, but not now. It was an unremarkable sound at first, like cloth being slid across a hard surface, but as he focused it steadily became creepier. It was all he could hear now, coming from all directions around him. The scraping of fabric attacked his sense like nails pulling across a chalkboard.

A shadow shot in front of him, across the edge of light coming from his wand. "Get back!" with one arm, Dumbledore pushed Harry behind him; while the other cast a golden ring in that direction, only for it to disappear into the darkness.

"What is it, sir?" He could hear them now, circling around him and Dumbledore like a predator does its prey.

"Lethifolds, Harry," Dumbledore answered, his eyes searched the darkness, anticipating where the creatures would strike from.

There wasn't much Harry knew about Lethifolds, other than their apparent close relation with Dementors and their taste for flesh. He recalled Remus mentioning the Patronus Charm worked on them, but he didn't mention how affective it was.

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore spoke, "They are similar to Dementors in that they infest places of evil, slipping into the darkness and feeding on pain and negative energy. The history of Azkaban is not a pleasant one, and there is a reason Dementors are drawn there, just as how the Lethifolds have chosen to nest here. Unlike Dementors, Lethifolds do not emit an identifiable aura, choosing to blend into their surroundings. Some consider them more dangerous for this very reason, and I tend to agree."

One of the more restless creatures chose that moment to attack. It was nothing more than a black blur as it shot forward, its pale claws grasping for the old wizard's throat. Unfortunately for it, Dumbledore did not miss a second time. The Lethifold unleashed a horrific screech as the ring contracted around its thin form, tightening with each thrash of the monster's nightmarish limbs.

It was hard to distinguish their figures from the darkness around them, but what Harry saw disturbed him. He could see countless Lethifolds swarming around them, screaming in a bloodthirsty rage. They were in the eye of the hurricane, the center of this hellish vortex, experiencing the last bits of calm before the storm came without mercy.

Harry chanced a glance at Dumbledore, understanding passing between their shared gaze, knowing what was to come next. They would have to fight their way out, and Harry would be damned if he did not give as good as he got.

A shield of ice grew out of the floor, reacting instantly to the sharp swipe of Harry's wand, before he enlarged it and propelled it backwards with a twist of his wrist. His frozen construct served its purpose as it blocked the hallway, shielding them from the Lethifolds on that side for as long as it held.

Over the years of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures, he had come to learn that it was very hit and miss when using spells against magical creatures, especially beasts with high Ministry classifications. Some spells worked phenomenally on one creature, but were useless on another. Physical attacks, however, were always affective.

Fighting a battle on two fronts was never going to go in their favour, especially in a narrow environment such as the hallways of Wool's Orphanage, where you could fit a lot more Lethifolds than wizards. The ability to fight in one direction was what could prove to be their saving grace.

The two wizards stood facing a veil death. It was nothing like the one hidden within the depths of the Ministry, but was something Harry equally wanted to avoid all the same.

Streams of sparks lit the hall, trailing the long brushstrokes of Dumbledore's wand. The Lethifolds screeched in agony as the colored sparks burnt bright and hot through them. A smile was stretched across Dumbledore's face, like he was listening to his favorite piece of Opera. In fact, he likely was, humming the Overture to the Marriage of Figaro in his mind. Harry remembered he mentioned his love for Mozart once.

"Come along, Harry," Dumbledore waltzed on through the cloaked figures, his wand shooting out sparks, rings, and golden strings in every which direction, like some bizarre light show that even Fred and George would be envious of.

They moved quickly, slashing through the hordes of Lethifolds, protecting one another as if they had been fighting together for years. It was an instinctive dance, one Harry had quickly learned and adapted to. Magic flooded his senses, and with the combined auras of him and Dumbledore resonating around them, time seemed to slow to a stop.

He felt more than saw what was coming next. Turning just as a horde of Lethifold's barrelled out of an empty bedroom to his side with their gaping maw's wide open. His wand was up and the incantation was on his lips quicker than most would consider possible.

 _Expecto Patronum!_

Prongs galloped out of his wand, immediately clashing with the living shrouds. It wasn't even a contest, the Lethifolds retreating from the corporeal figure and its positive energy; they could hardly stand being within its presence. Prongs corralled the Lethifolds, like a sheepdog would the flock of its shepherd, and opened a clear pathway to the main staircase they had ascended earlier.

Harry spotted a silvery phoenix gliding through the air, weaving in and out around the proud stag, like it was playing a game. Dumbledore was nowhere in sight, but Harry figured he had already made his way downstairs and was clearing an exit.

He bounded down the steps at a break neck speed, spotting the purple robes of his headmaster twinkling in the night through the open front doors, as he fought to keep the Lethifolds indoors.

Ice travelled through his veins and his ankle burned, as all of his momentum was suddenly killed. He fell hard on the wooden steps, toppling head over heels the rest of the way. Pain coursed through his body and consumed his senses, leaving him completely unaware of his surroundings. The world would not stop spinning around him, and there was a warmth spreading around his left side.

A cloak wrapped itself around his shoulders, and it would have been a comfort for him had it not been put on so tight. He thought it odd that it was wrapping around his face rather than his body, but was more focused on the fact he was finding it harder to breathe with each second that passed. For a moment he was back in Gryffindor tower, wrapped up in warm sheets, his face in his pillow, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. He wanted to fall asleep, it would be so easy, but the persistent tugging on his ankle and the sudden pain in his shoulder kept him up. He couldn't fall asleep while in pain, just like how he couldn't fall asleep on the floor of this Lethifold infested orphanage.

 _Lethifold._

His mind cleared and the pain dulled, as the reality of the situation settled in. He could feel the corpse-like claw still attached to his ankle, tightening its grip, trying to rip his flesh off. His breaths came in short desperate spurts as a second Lethifold was smothering him with its shadowy body.

He was about to die.

His mind instantly rejected the thought, despite his dire circumstances he refused to die at the hands of a Lethifold. He could only die at the hands of one man, and Harry was not going to pass on without taking Voldemort with him. There was a prophecy to fulfill.

He had never attempted this spell before, let alone nonverbally, but with a cloth that tasted like death shoved in his mouth, he had to make do with what he was given. It was briefly glossed over in Percival Dumbledore's book, illustrating how emotion and an understanding of the magic behind nature's awesome power can be used to achieve feats beyond imagination.

 _Tempesta Furora,_ Harry roared in his mind. Deep within himself he could feel a storm brewing. It was thundering violently, wanting nothing more than to break free and wreak havoc. Harry let it build, the fury of nature living inside of him. He felt like a God. It was beautiful, the power he held, but frightening in what it was capable of. In that moment, there was only one thing it wanted, and that was destruction.

He let go.

Thunder clapped overhead, the force behind it shaking the orphanage down to its foundations. Winds blew in from the east, howling like a pack of wolves chasing after a satisfying kill. It whipped around Harry, lashing out at everything it came into contact with. Each gust grew more brutal than the last, tearing wood from the floor and panels from the walls and ceiling. Furniture clashed together as it was thrown about in the windstorm. It was chaos in all of its glory. Nature was funny that way, where some of its most wondrous moments were its deadliest. There was a beauty in the utter devastation it brought, forever changing what came before it, heralding a new beginning.

It was a wild power, threatening to break free at each turn, fighting his every move. There was no negotiation, no half measures, only a battle for domination between the force of nature and the one foolish enough to summon it. Hesitation meant a loss of control, and a loss of control meant death for anyone who got in its way.

The hand on his ankle had long since lost its grip, and the Lethifold around his head had been viciously torn to shreds by debris caught in his windstorm.

He lay there for what felt like hours, but could have been minutes or mere seconds, magic humming through his body. It would have almost been pleasurable, had he not been spread out amongst a field of carnage.

With a strength he did not know he had, Harry stumbled to his feet and confronted his own creation. It showed him no recognition and even less mercy. Gale force winds slammed into him, his hair flying wildly behind him and glasses long since thrown from his face, but he held his ground. He would not be dominated by a force of his own construction. He had created it; thus he could end it.

The winds intensified and roared in his ears, his own magic protesting against him, but Harry would not be cowed. He battled with nature, screaming at the Heavens with the taste of blood in his throat, telling them to reclaim that to which they had sent down. And for whatever reason, they listened. Nature bowed to him, and all that remained was a cool breeze tickling the back of his neck.

Silence rang through the air.

Looking down at his feet, Harry kicked away the tattered remains of a Lethifold. He spotted countless others littered around the surrounding rubble, never in one piece however. There was a hand here, a shadowy torso there, and other body parts so mutilated he couldn't even begin to guess what they originally were.

"Harry…" he could hear a voice, but did not think much of it. His mind was blank as he sifted through piles of debris. He was looking for something and would not stop until he found it.

"Harry…"

He knew it was around here somewhere.

"Harry."

It had to be.

"Harry!"

Aha! He knew it was here. They were completely misshapen, and the lenses were shattered; but with a quick wave of his wand they were as good as new, sans some of the enchantments put on them. It would only require a short trip to Mr. Warren's shop in Hogsmeade, the man always was rather fast with his work.

It was then that Harry remembered someone had been trying to speak to him.

Swaying slightly as he turned around, he saw Dumbledore standing outside, his eyes as wide as galleons, shining with the reflection of the light from his wand. Except, he wasn't outside, he was inside standing amongst the rubble. But why was he able to see the moon and the stars and the sky?

Swivelling his head around in an owl-like fashion, he took in the scene around him. The orphanage was gone. Not gone as in disappeared, but gone as in no longer standing. It had been completely levelled, not a recognizable feature still standing.

"That spell, Harry… where did you learn it?" he asked, a tone of genuine curiosity coloring his voice. Whatever shock he had previously experienced, disappeared, his normally calm demeanor returned, taking in the scene like it was something he would see on a Sunday afternoon stroll.

"It w-was in your father's book," Harry replied, stumbling through the wreckage of the orphanage.

"Extraordinary…" Dumbledore whispered, his eyes never leaving Harry. "So it was, the effects are rather… hard to miss," he chuckled. "I was unaware you had practiced it before," he frowned in concern, "that was ambitious of you, it is not a spell to be taken lightly to say the least."

"I hadn-" Harry coughed, interrupting himself, before starting again, "I never did practice... first time. Th-there was a Lethifold… it was on me… I couldn't b-breathe a-a-and I needed it off," he struggled to get out, as his words started to slur.

"I once heard that necessity was the greatest teacher, I suppose you just proved that to be true," Harry could barely hear his headmaster speaking. "You never cease to astound me, Harry. There is never a day that goes by where I am not thankful for being given the privilege of teaching you. Watch-" Dumbledore turned to look at Harry as he spoke with an undistinguishable look in his eye, when suddenly he was brought up short. The look disappeared and was quickly replaced with panic.

Harry wasn't entirely sure why Dumbledore was so shaken, he was too busy trying to figure out how he had gotten to his knees.

"Harry!" Dumbledore rushed over to grab him by the shoulders.

Harry was numb to the touch.

Curious at what his headmaster was inspecting so meticulously, Harry looked over his right shoulder. A giggle burst from his lips at what he saw. Most of his shoulder was missing, a tar-like substance oozing from his grievous wound. He knew he should be crying, screaming, or praying that what he was seeing wasn't real, but instead, he laughed.

Nothing was in focus as his vision faded, he could hear Dumbledore's distressed words fail to breach his half-conscious state, he wanted to reassure his headmaster, but could not raise his arm to do so. The only thing that ran through his mind, continuously looping like a broken record, was that he wondered if he had tasted any good.

* * *

His body felt like it was filled with lead, his eyelids cracking open at a snail's pace. Doubtless it was better that way, as his eyes burned from the sudden influx of light. It wasn't that the room was particularly bright, in fact it was rather dim, but after hours of unconsciousness it was quite the shock.

He had given up trying to move for the time being; every joint and every limb resisting his commands. Instead, he lay splayed across the soft bed he could feel beneath him and tried to connect the events that had gotten him here.

He remembered Wool's Orphanage in its derelict state, forgotten from the world. He remembered Tom Riddle's room, and learning about his twisted childhood and the origins of Lord Voldemort. There were dancing shadows, silent as death until they struck. Harry would be glad to never have to hear the name _Lethifold_ again, let alone meet one. His shoulder thrummed in agreement.

They had been caught completely unawares, walked right into their nest and angered them beyond belief. Fight or die, it was that simple. Another close brush with death that Harry could add to the tally, but Merlin was it fun. He had never felt more _alive_ than in those moments fighting beside Dumbledore.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking this, but he simply could not wait to be out their again. The closest thing he could compare it to, were the tantalizing few seconds in the chase just before catching the snitch. The rush, the risk, the game on the line… or in this case lives were on the line. Standing on the edge of glory and on the verge of devastating loss, it gave him a sense of satisfaction. This was what he was good at, the game of ultimates, where the stakes are highest and failure is not an option.

Across the room the door creaked open, signalling the arrival of a visitor. He heard them slowly pad their way towards him, they were obviously not in any sort of a rush. The steps were too quiet to discern if they belonged to a man or a woman.

The cool, smooth feeling of glass was pressed gently against his lower lip, before being tilted and pouring a foul tasting potion down his throats. He wanted to gag, but his body would not allow it.

Slowly, the liquid worked its way through his system alleviating the heaviness in his body. The invisible binds loosened, freeing his body to move as it pleased.

Pushing himself backwards to rest on the pillows beneath him, Harry looked up into the face of his headmaster. Dumbledore was no longer wearing what he had at the orphanage, settling for forest green robes which matched the same silly hat he wore before. He sat on a chair at his bedside, leaning forwards slightly, his beard curling up on the covers of the bed. "It is good to see you awake, Harry, you had a fair few of us concerned for a moment."

"What… happened?" his voice was scratchy, and he graciously accepted a glass of water from Dumbledore.

"From what I was told you suffered a fairly serious concussion, 3 broken ribs, lacerations to your left side, and a large wound to your right shoulder," he listed with a grimace. "They have all been healed of course, some not as well as others. Fawkes is too young in his current life, and there is only so much healing magic can do without his fresh tears."

Harry turned his head to look over his shoulder, and frowned at what he saw. There was a large patch of poorly regrown skin with a withered appearance, and a series of blue veins crisscrossing through it all. It was hideous, but at least he could move it with very little pain.

"A Lethifold's bite is not a pretty thing, and it appears that particular beast took quite a liking to your flesh. It was the most serious of your wounds, and took days to heal," Dumbledore filled him in.

"Days!?" Harry was shocked, he had thought it had only been a few hours since they left the orphanage.

"Yes, _days_ ," Dumbledore chuckled at Harry's expression, "it has almost been an entire week, truthfully. You were kept under during the healing process. Eight teeth needed to be removed from you shoulder, and as resilient as you are, Harry, everyone has their limits," he patted Harry gently on the arm. The was an air of joviality around him, as his eyes shined at what he said next, "The teeth will make a wonderful Christmas gift for Horace, I think, he is rather fond of rare and valuable things."

Harry laughed, knowing just how true that was.

"I guess I'll need to be thanking Pomfrey again… Having gotten something for Professor Slughorn, do you have any idea of what she would like for Christmas?" Harry was being humorous, but half serious in asking.

"I have heard she is rather fond of Celestina Warbeck and never denies Ice Mice when offered," he answered Harry's question, "but it is not Poppy you have to thank for your recovery. As formidable a healer Poppy is, she is not privy to the location of headquarters and has denied each attempt at recruitment."

"So we are in Grimmauld Place then?" Dumbledore nodded in response to his question. He recognized where he was staying now, it was Regulus' old room. It was always the best kept room, thanks to Kreachers adoration of him, and it stood out in comparison to the rest of the house. The only messy thing about the place, were the countless newspaper clippings pertaining to Voldemort littering the walls. No wonder Sirius did not like speaking about him, if he was as brainwashed a follower as he appeared to be.

"Who healed me then?" Harry asked.

"A new member of the Order, a healer from St. Mungo's. It was a bit of a baptism by fire for them, but they proved effective in their duties."

"Hogwarts?" the one word was enough for Dumbledore to discern what he wanted to know.

"Your friends have been informed of your safety, as has the rest of the school. As far as they are concerned, you are under quarantine in the Hospital Wing with a severe case of Dragon flu. It is known to infect those who have come in contact with dragons in the past, and your injury from the Horntail would be plausible enough as the cause."

"What about Ron, Hermione, and Ginny?" Harry asked, knowing the three were aware of the Order's existence.

"As trustworthy and devoted a friends I know they are, they will be told the same... it must be that way. If they were to find out that you were injured or left the castle, it will point to my involvement. From there it would not take much for them to discover our lessons, especially with Miss Granger looking into it. It is crucial suspicion remains away from us."

"What about the rest of the Weasley's? Surely Ron and Ginny would find out through them at some point?"

"The Weasley family is unaware of what has happened, only the few Order members who were present at headquarters upon our sudden arrival know you were injured. I can assure you they have all been sworn to secrecy, though I'm sure it was not necessary for at least one of them."

"Professor," Harry spoke up, "won't Voldemort, I don't know… mind that I destroyed the place? Or at least find it odd that we visited where he grew up?"

"I doubt Tom will ever know we stopped by the orphanage," Dumbledore answered with an easy smile, "he always hated the place. There was nothing there of value, and it only served as a reminder of his humiliating beginnings. I'm sure he would be pleased that the place was destroyed if he ever did find out."

There was a knock on the door.

"Ah, I believe it is time for me to depart. Minerva already has enough duties herself without me adding running the school on top of it all," his eyes twinkled in amusement, "Make sure you eat your fill, Harry, nutrition potions only do so much. We will talk more when I return," he said, as he slowly rose from the chair and made to exit.

"Goodbye, Headmaster," Harry called as Dumbledore slipped out of the room. There was a momentary pause of silence after his departure, before the door opened once again.

She looked just like he had last remembered, a vision of beauty. Her silvery blonde hair flowed freely behind her, as she carried in a plate of food. The dirtied apron she wore over top of her clothing, indicated she had prepared it for him herself. He knew he shouldn't have, but he could not help but stare. It wasn't her allure, he knew that… maybe it was the paleness of her blue eyes, or the sweet scent of lavender that captured his attention.

"I could get used to this you know," Harry laughed, thinking to how she had brought him breakfast in bed not even two months ago.

Her eye peered at him coldly and there was an air of indifference around her, but the small quirk of her pink lips betrayed her.

"I assure you 'Arry, zis will be zee last time," she placed the plate, holding a bowl of piping hot vegetable soup and bread and cheese, on his lap. "Eez eet not possible for you to stay out of danger?" she asked, taking the seat Dumbledore had just vacated.

"You really can't blame me, it just finds me," Harry replied, digging into the food in front of him. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he had started eating.

"You were in zis room for days wizzout a word about your condition," she stated.

"Again, not my fault, Fleur. I was the unconscious one being operated on, you know," Harry had little time for whatever Fleur was doing right now. He had just woken up after being attacked, to finding out almost a week had gone by without him knowing; he hadn't a clue what she getting at.

"Do you not understand?"

"I really do not," he responded honestly, "Are you expecting me to apologize? Because I don't see the point in one right now." He had been looking forward to seeing her again since the day he left for Hogwarts, but not like this. He liked Fleur a lot, but he couldn't be arsed by her superiority right now.

"Zhere are people 'oo care about you, 'Arry, you know zat," she huffed at him.

"And I don't care about myself?" he shot back, his temper heating up to the temperature of the soup in front of him. He sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair, "I'm… sorry Fleur, but can we just… not do this right now. You know I don't ask for this…"

"Oui, I do 'Arry," she replied softer this time, a hint of apology in her voice as she gripped his hand with her own, "I was seemply worried."

"Honestly I'm fine, there isn't much to worry about. Besides I was with Dumbledore, the chances of me dying with him around are low."

"You were looking for somezing together?" she asked quickly.

"No, I don't think so," Harry frowned, "we were just… talking. He was teaching me history, I suppose."

"History? Of what?"

"Dreadfully boring stuff, really, you wouldn't be interested," Harry wasn't too comfortable divulging the truth of what they had been doing, even to Fleur. Dumbledore had yet to say anything, but Harry had the feeling that his lessons were building to something… something important.

"I would not consider somezing zat needed a week of 'ealing and recovery to be _boring_ ," she raised an eyebrow emphasizing her point.

"That well… er, came afterwards. Unlucky really, had no idea that would happen," he replied between spoonful's, the soup was very good. As Harry continued eating, and Fleur stared at him with a look filled with intensity, he wondered what she was doing at headquarters. "Shouldn't you be at work, instead of, you know, feeding me?" he asked bluntly.

"Eet eez quite touching knowing zat you care so much about my career," she replied sarcastically, "I start work een four 'ours. Eet eez three o'clock in ze morning, 'Arry."

That shocked Harry, he had no idea it was that early, his perception of time was completely skewed from his week-long slumber. It made sense why Fleur was so testy with him earlier, she had chosen to stay up and prepare him food at the cost of her own sleep, and he hadn't even thanked her. He had forgotten how much she cared for proper manners, she was a lot like Daphne in that way.

"Thanks… for this, it uh means a lot," Harry said motioning at his half eaten plate. Fleur's whole body seemed to lose a certain amount of tension, and gave him a weary smile. "You don't have to stay up for me, I won't mind if you want to catch some more sleep.

"Zhank you, 'Arry, zat is very gracious of you, but I will stay. I would not be able to anyway," she sighed, as she stretched herself out in the cramped wooden chair. Harry thought she looked very cute doing so, and quickly averted his gaze when she turned her attention back to him.

"I understand the feeling," he spoke in a low voice, "it's not the best thing to say, but this past week I've been out for is the best rest I have had in months. Sometimes I'm afraid of closing my eyes at night for what I might see."

"'Arry…" Fleur started to say something, but Harry kept on talking.

"My whole life I haven't slept well, and the sleep I did manage to catch was never enough. I learnt to rely on little sleep at a young age, but that doesn't compare to what it's been like these past years…" Harry trailed off, his mind a million miles away from where he was in Regulus Black's room.

"'Arry, you do not need to tell me zeez things," Fleur squeezed his hand gently.

"I know I don't… I just feel that I should," he answered. For whatever reason, he felt like this was the right moment to speak from the heart and unload some of the burdens he had been carrying silently. He might have spoken to Tonks about these things, he knew that she would understand, but Fleur was here and Tonks wasn't and that is all that mattered in that moment.

"There are times when I don't sleep for days at a time, sometimes an entire week. I know it shouldn't be possible… I think it's my magic that keeps me going," he started quietly, growing in confidence with each word. "I hide it from my friends, Hermione in particular, because I don't want her worrying about it. She's great, like a sister, but she wouldn't understand… I don't think anybody would."

"Zhere are many people 'oo are 'aunted by ze past-"

"No, Fleur. I mean it when I say _no one_ would understand," Harry was firm in his voice. "Ron suspects I'm pretty sure, it's only natural since we have shared a dorm for six years, but he gives me my space... I love him for that. Neville too, he's quite perceptive," Harry paused for a moment, trying to gather the thoughts whirling around in his mind, "I guess it started in fourth year, the year of the tournament. I thought they were horrible dreams at first… but then I realized they were too vivid. I was living those dreams, I was in them, it felt like I was right there watching everything going on. Some of the things I saw _him_ do…" Harry shivered at the memories.

"'Arry, what are you talking about?"

" _Him_ , Fleur, I'm talking about _him_!" Harry replied, looking half crazed, his emerald eyes flashing with fire. "They weren't dreams you see, I was watching him. _I_ was _him_."

"Zhis eez not making any sense…"

"Voldemort!" Harry practically yelled, "It's all about Voldemort… when is it not," he spoke to himself this time. "There's a _connection_ between us, we are linked," Harry parted his messy fringe, showing off the angry red lightning bolt over his right eye. " _The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal_ ," Harry whispered noiselessly in a way Fleur could not hear.

"Merde," she swore.

"You can say that again," Harry laughed darkly. "It only got worse when he came back. He would send me dreams… things I didn't understand, but he did. It was a game to him, playing with my mind. I lived in agony, every waking moment of the day I had a headache," he rubbed the scar lightly remembering the feeling. "He used my own mind against me, tortured and teased me, and led me into a trap of all things."

"Ze Ministry," she stated breathed with a look of realization on her pretty face.

"He told me he had Sirius, he sent me visions of him torturing him, and I ran to save him. Only that I didn't... all for that damn prophecy."

"A prophecy?" she snorted as if it were a joke, most people had that attitude towards Divination.

"Yeah," Harry forced a laugh, "only that it broke. Serves the bastard right."

"So 'e did not 'ear it?" she asked.

"No… no one did. It's gone forever…" he knew it was a lie, but it was a nice dream. A world where there was no prophecy, where he was free to do as he pleased. Where the weight of the world wasn't placed on his shoulders, and he did not have to constantly worry about the danger he and his friends were in. A place where he could have grown up with his parents and Sirius, and knew what a real home felt like.

"Eez zat not a good thing?" she asked, unconsciously leaning into his side, a small crease forming in her forhead. "Eef nobody 'eard ze prophecy, zhen it should not matter anymore, non? Per'aps eet eez better zhat way, forgotten to ze world."

"I suppose…" Harry saw the value in what she was saying, but it did not matter. He had heard Sybil Trelawney's haunting words, and Voldemort believed too strongly in its contents. They had passed the point of no return, and whether they liked it or not, events would unfold leading to its fulfillment.

"It's not too bad anymore," Harry continued from where they had left off, "it stopped hurting ever since he tried to possess me. I think he's afraid of the connection now. I only wish I could figure out why he thinks it so dangerous," he rubbed the scar in frustration.

Fleur looked intrigued by what he was saying, like Hermione when she learnt an interesting fact she did not know before. Harry supposed they were having quite an interesting conversation, it's not every day a person admits a Dark Lord tried to possess them in such a casual manner.

"I can still feel it," he stated simply, "I always have been, ever since I was a child. I'm pretty good at ignoring it, but even then I know it's still there," as he spoke he could feel an unnatural heat pool above his right eye. Sometimes he even thought it was alive, with a mind of its own.

Curse scars were like that; he had read a lot about them over the years in the hopes to better understand his own. It is not uncommon for them to react in the presence of other dark magic, similar to the spell that caused the scar. Others were also known to occasionally react in the presence of the original caster. Almost all curse scars resisted normal healing methods and would never fade, keeping just as raw as the day they were originally received.

It was an obscure branch of magic, with piles upon piles of literature filled with potential hypotheses and theories, but very little concrete evidence.

However, Harry had read enough to know his scar was different. He could feel it crawling just underneath his skin, like a bug that wasn't there or an itch that could not be scratched.

He could see that Fleur had paled slightly, and decided it was about time to change the topic to something more pleasant. He had accomplished what he wanted and spoke to someone about some of his problems, and felt better for it.

"I'm sure you've seen your fair share of interesting things at work," Harry started.

It took Fleur a few moments to realize he was talking to her after such an abrupt change in conversation. She blushed slightly at being caught unawares, "Ze work can be interesting at times, but mostly eet eez quite dull. I 'ave not been given any of ze more demanding assignments," the tone of her voice indicated she was quite annoyed with this.

"What is the type of work they have been giving you?"

"For ze past month I 'ave been split between teller duty and ze office of financial records and archives."

Harry was appalled, they had designated Fleur to paperwork. "Do they not know how capable you are? You are more qualified than half the people working there?"

Fleur had a sweet smile on her face as she shook her head, "Ze Goblins are bitter creatures 'oo cannot be trusted. Zey are unpleasant too most, but extremely so to Veela?"

"Why?" Harry was genuinely curious, "Wouldn't the Goblins like having someone descended from another magical race working there?"

"Ze Gobins are hypocrites 'Arry," Harry could hear the genuine dislike in her voice. "Eet eez only zhere own kind zey care for, never forget zhat."

There was a finality to her tone, that left no question she was telling the truth.

"Have you thought of quitting? If they treat you so terribly, why not leave and go somewhere you will be appreciated? Why not go back to France?" Harry didn't really want Fleur to leave, but if it came down to it he preferred her happy than miserable.

"If only eet were so simple… I cannot leave," for a moment Fleur did not appear as perfect as she normally did. She looked stressed, there were slight bags underneath her eyes, and there was an air of melancholy surrounding her. It was rare not seeing Fleur all put together like she normally was. The only times he hadn't, other than this moment, were when she had failed to retrieve Gabrielle from the lake, and after being attacked in the maze during the third task.

"Fleur, are you alright?" his voice soft in the close space between the two of them.

Fleur laughed in response. It wasn't a kind laugh or mocking one, it was a bitter one, almost derisive in nature. "Would you believe zat you are ze first person to ask me zat in months?" her delicate fingers pulled anxiously on the seams of the apron she was wearing. "Zere is a war going on, I am working a mediocre job zat eez unpleasant, zere are my duties to ze Order, and no one 'as asked me once. But of course Mrs. Weasley will always find time to speak about ze wedding."

"Surely Bill ha-"

"William 'as not been around!" she snapped, before quickly regaining her control. "He just returned last night, and 'as gone to see 'is parents," her voice softer this time.

"Are you happy he's back?" Harry wasn't sure why he asked that question.

Fleur was taken aback for a moment, studying him closely, a strand of hair hanging loosely over her left eye, "Of course, William is my fiancé." She stated it plainly, as if it were a fact, and for some reason it hurt Harry.

"When is the wedding supposed to be?" he really did not know what had brought this on. Why was he asking her this? And why did his throat clench, and chest tighten so painfully when doing so?

"In ze summer I zhink. It eez not decided yet, but ze Weasley's want it zhen," her brows were deeply furrowed as she answered.

Harry felt that it was too soon. He wanted to tell Fleur that they should push it back, that she was too young to marry. Maybe in a few more years, when they knew each other better and when the war was over. It wasn't safe for them to do it now. Maybe they should wait for when he was no longer around.

He wanted to say all those things, but instead he settled for a nod.

They sat there together in that moment, one on the bed and the other on the chair, but were so close together that they were practically on top of one another. Their gazes met and held, neither one looking away from the other. For the first time since waking up, Harry was aware that he was shirtless. Unconsciously he reached over and felt the newest of his scars.

Fleur frowned, her pale eyes trailing up his arm to where his hand was on his shoulder. She kneeled on the bed, her body covering his, as she gently placed her arm on his side and turned him over.

His face was enveloped in her silvery hair that fell over her shoulder, his nose assaulted by lavender. He did not need eyes on the back of his head to know that Fleur was inspecting the blackened skin of his injured shoulder. He could feel the lightness of her fingertips dancing along the newly grown skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of the scar. He leaned into her touch, enjoying the feeling of her hands on his bare skin.

"What 'appened?" he could hear her voice murmur next to his ear.

Harry swallowed before answering, his heart beating wildly against his chest, "Lethifold…" he breathed out.

He could feel Fleur hum in response, her fingers continuing to run along his scar, mindlessly tracing patterns, "Somezzing so ugly does not suit you, 'Arry."

"I would settle for something more beautiful if I could," Harry chuckled, his breath pushing her hair in and out of his face.

It was a strange setting, lying there in a former Death Eater's room in Grimmauld Place, having such an intimate moment. He didn't even want to think about the fact she was Bill's fiancé, it only made what he was feeling worse.

Fleur shivered, ending the moment. Her hand left his shoulder, as she moved off of the bed and back into her seat. He felt hollow, like a part of him had just gone missing, but the feeling faded quick enough that he was convinced he had imagined it.

There was a gap between them that hadn't existed before, and he wasn't referring to the extra inch her chair moved back when she had sat down.

"Eez eet not enough zat Britain eez cold to begin with," Fleur rubbed her hands over the gooseprickles that covered her arms, "do ze houses in Britain 'ave to be so cold as well," she laughed, but Harry could tell it was partly forced.

"I'll buy you a nice pair of mittens and a cloak for Christmas, how does that sound?"

"I zhink I would like zat," Fleur gently smiled.

The conversation between the two eased after that, as their words flowed effortlessly in a much less charged atmosphere. They spoke of Gabrielle's first year of Beauxbatons and how she was enjoying it. Fleur spoke of her experiences at the school, while Harry talked about how his year was going so far. Fleur's quick wit, and Harry's sarcastic humour returned with full force as they traded stories and chatted about anyone and anything they could think of.

Harry told her about the Weasley's flying car, and how him and Ron crashed it into the Whomping Willow after missing the train. Fleur questioned his sanity for attempting such a stunt, and Harry replied that he hadn't known any better at the time. He enjoyed seeing her squirm during his retelling of meeting Hagrid's friend Aragog, and the car's timely rescue.

Fleur had taken pleasure of teasing Harry on his infamous date with Cho Chang, which she had heard secondhand through the Order. It had become almost a legend in of itself at this point. However, she also divulged a few of her own tales of horrendous dates, particularly her awful night with Roger Davies during the Yule Ball.

They went on and on, losing themselves in each other's words as time went on around them.

Harry was nearing the end of his recounting of the Weasley twins' grand exit from Hogwarts the year before, when he noticed that Fleur's breathing had evened out and that she had fallen asleep curled in the small wooden chair, her chin tucked into the crook of her neck.

He stared at her then, longer than he should have, but it was terribly difficult for him to look away. She looked so peaceful, like a sleeping angel, with her hair fanned all around her and a smile on her sleeping lips.

Temptation gripped him as he wanted to pick her up in his arms, and tuck her into his bed, but he couldn't. She was to leave for work in under an hour, and if he put her in bed she likely wouldn't wake up for hours. He knew better than most what exhaustion looked like, and Fleur was clearly showing it.

Instead, he gathered up his courage and slid out of bed and kissed her softly on the forehead.

Picking up the now empty plates of food Fleur had brought up for him, Harry made his way to the door, before he suddenly stopped. Turning, he walked back to where Fleur was sleeping. He disentangled the Rosewood wand that dangled from her fingertips, and gripped it in his own. The wand felt surprisingly good in his own grasp, and responded easily to his command.

After setting an alarm to wake her when it was time for her to leave, Harry set Fleur's wand down on the nightstand beside the bed and exited the room, taking extra care to close the door behind him.

He headed down to the kitchens to make himself a spot of tea, wondering what madness fate had planned for him next.

 **AN**

 **Here it is, essentially this was part 2 of last chapter. They both stand on their own, but were originally meant to go together, only to be split because of the enormous size it would have been otherwise.**

 **I was touched by the reviews telling me how much they enjoyed Dumbledore and Harry's conversations. Thank you so much! I love writing those scenes, and will definitely keep them coming as it is a massive part of this story. Dumbledore is such a fun character to write, and I hope I am doing him justice.**

 **I decided not to re-write the memory of Dumbledore meeting Tom at the Orphanage from Half-Blood Prince, the reason behind this is because I personally think JK Rowling did an amazing job writing that scene. Overall, I think her writing of the memories/flashbacks of Voldemort's origins are some of her best work in the entire series. I know people wished Dumbledore spent less time looking at memories and actually teaching Harry, but in my opinion that doesn't diminish how well they were executed. As the story goes on, I will leave some memories as JK originally had them, I might change the odd one, and I definitely will be coming up with my own. The more material for Dumbledore and Harry's lessons, the more of them I will write them.**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed seeing some Dumbledore and Harry kicking ass this chapter. I know a few people were worried about Harry's lack of action/progression, so I hope that soothes some of your concerns.**

 **Fleur's back! For how long, you will have to keep reading to find out...**

 **Let me know your thoughts on what happened this chapter, and what is going to come next. As always, I leave hints and hidden plot points littered within the chapter, so let me know if you found any. Any concerns, questions, or suggestions are also appreciated. Leave them as reviews or PM me if you want, I just love hearing everyone's thoughts!**

 **Next chapter won't be out as quick as this one, but it shouldn't be a long wait. However, my other story will probably be updated first.**

 **Until next time.**


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting around Grimmauld Place was not particularly pleasant. Most students dreamed about the opportunity to sneak off from school grounds, but what Harry was experiencing was not a riveting escape from Hogwarts to traipse around on some romantic date. He was currently holed up in a musty old room that smelt like Doxy droppings, under the instruction to keep his presence away from the Order.

Dumbledore had returned a few hours after their discussion upon Harry's awakening, and informed him that he would be returning to Hogwarts in two days' time. The healer had ordered Harry to remain under observation to ensure the wound on his shoulder did not regress. He had yet to meet the new Order member, instead being checked over by Dumbledore or Fleur whenever possible.

He was due to portkey back to the Headmaster's office sometime that evening, but he was unsure when exactly.

There was an Order meeting going on downstairs at the moment, an all hands meeting according to Fleur, with all members scheduled to come in and report. He heard when the members started to arrive from where he was sitting upstairs, voices both familiar and unfamiliar. He easily recognized Tonks' voice as she bickered with her mentor, as well as Dedulas Diggle's high pitched squeaks. There were large shouts of greeting and congratulations when Bill had finally arrived with his parents, as many of the Order members hadn't seen him since the engagement was announced.

There was a bitter feeling in Harry's stomach at being left out of the meeting, but he knew why he needed to remain hidden. It still didn't do much to make him feel better. How many of those people had fought off a horde of Lethifolds? How many had fought beside Dumbledore, protected him, and matched him spell for spell?

Information was gold according to Dumbledore, and he could only imagine the importance of what some of the members had to say today. Fleur had told him that they rarely had all member meetings, with the demanding schedules of the members making it difficult to organize. Instead, Dumbledore settled for small scale meetings where members who worked in similar fields would report together, before being debriefed on the information the rest of the Order had gathered.

The house had gone silent hours ago, signalling the start of the meeting as they gathered in the expansive dining hall of Grimmauld Place. The meeting was still going on as far as he knew, he had yet to hear anyone leave.

It was difficult sitting in Grimmauld Place for long periods of time, there were too many memories here. Memories that were still too fresh and raw for him to dwell on. This place in all of its repugnant glory could have been his home. As unpleasant a thought it was to call a place that used the heads of house elves as decorations a home, it still hurt to think of what could have been. He would have lived in that damned orphanage if it meant he could be with Sirius. They would have made it work somehow, he knew they would. It would have been difficult, but they could have renovated Grimmauld Place, returned it to its former glory, and made it their own where Sirius could live his life without thinking about his miserable childhood.

It would have been a new start to them both, something they sorely needed.

Whenever he walked around the house, Harry couldn't help but imagine what certain rooms could have looked like. He wasn't an interior designer by any means, but still his mind liked to toy with the idea of what personal touches they could have added to make it their own.

The tapestry room was one of the worst for him. It was an incredible bit of magic and a beautiful piece of artwork, if not for the blackened scorch marks that dotted across the canvas. It was shameful that someone could desecrate such an enchanting creation.

It was easy to see why the Blacks were seen as royalty at one point, they certainly treated themselves as such.

Beautiful threads of black, gold, and silver, intertwined in its creation, as the surface gleamed with the magic that ran throughout the house. Every piece of thread looked to have been imbued with the magic of the Black's, and Harry could only imagine how difficult it was to enchant. A web of names of witches and wizards long passed stretched around all sides of the room, creating an endless trail that connected generations of family.

The beauty of the tapestry itself was not half so beautiful as those whose faces decorated. Of the myriad of portraits that stared back at him, not one was unattractive. The women were enchanting, the men handsome, their regal features drew in the eye and screamed for attention. However, all it took was a single look at Bellatrix's stabbing violet eyes, to see the truth in the statement that beauty is only skin deep.

More faces than he could count on this tapestry were vile people, monsters in their own right, who believed them and their violent delights were above the laws of common man. The truly beautiful people in Harry's opinion were the ones found in the depths of the blackened circles.

The name Dorea Black always caught his eye when he stood in the room, a woman with sharp grey eyes, high cheekbones, and raven black hair that curled just above her shoulders. It wasn't her beauty that sucked him in, but the golden line connecting her to Charlus Potter. He often found himself wondering what kind of woman she was, and what exactly her relation to him was, as there was no line indicating children beneath the couple.

Her face wasn't blasted off the family tree, which did not make her suddenly evil, but it made him wonder what her true nature was like. However, at the same time, not all those with their faces scorched were good people either. Sirius had told him of a select few Blacks who had been removed from the tapestry for betraying the family in other ways.

Perhaps one day he would look into his own family history and find out what happened to Dorea and Charlus Potter. Maybe he would make a tapestry of his own, or find someone who could recreate it. He had been told that the Potter family was ancient, and was interested discover what had led to him being the last of the Potters.

It was then that the door to the room Harry had been camping out in opened, and the man he least wanted to see in any situation stalked in with his robes billowing behind him.

"Potter," Snape practically spat the name out, his onyx eyes bore into Harry before flickering quickly to the book in his hand. A cold sneer spread across his face, his yellowing crooked teeth peaked through his pale lips, "I would recommend putting that book down, Potter. It is meant to be in the hands of competent wizards, not those who do not understand a word of text they are reading."

He had been reading an old text he found in the Black library discussing curses of the blood. A part of him was still hesitant to admit it, but he found it fascinating. The sheer strength and devastation behind some of the spells within was awe-inspiring. There was power in magical blood, and Harry knew that better than most. Voldemort's resurrection involved blood of the enemy, the blood wards surrounding Privet Drive were stronger than anyone could have predicted, and his mother's protection was carried within his blood. From rituals, to Maledicti, to blood borne curses, the tome was filled with important knowledge.

Harry chose to ignore Snape. The room he had been sitting in was out of the way from where the meeting was taking place, and nowhere near the entrance of the house. It was glaringly obvious that Snape had purposely sought him out for whatever reason. Harry cursed Dumbledore in his mind, the man always took a certain delight in putting him and Snape together in as many situations as possible.

"Did you hear me, Potter?" Snape clearly did not enjoy being ignored.

"Yes… unfortunately," Harry responded dismissively. No amount of ignoring the man would make him go away, it only served to infuriate him further.

" _Unfortunately, sir,_ " Snape grounded out through clenched teeth, "I am your Professor, Potter, the word 'sir' is used in respect of my position."

"Well it's a good thing we aren't at Hogwarts then are we, in which case I decide who is deserving of my respect, regardless of their position, _Snape._ "

The sound of a foot halting on carpet gave away how close Snape was to rounding on him. Restraint and utter fury were written across every inch of his face, the man's self-control was stretching its limits. Harry was playing with fire here, but in his mind it was worth it.

"Just like your-"

"Father, yes I know," Harry replied, cutting Snape off knowing what he was going to say next, it had gotten predictable over the years. "It's interesting how you are unable to comprehend how some take pride in being compared to their father."

"Of course you would," Snape sneered, his face contorting into something grotesque, "arrogant, thick headed, inflated sense of self worth…"

"I find myself curious, was your father as detestable as you are?" Harry asked suddenly, he hardly had any patience to listen to Snape insult his father. What Harry had not expected was a slight widening of Snape's eyes as if he were taken aback by the question.

"We are not here to talk about my father," spit shot out of his mouth to where Harry was sitting, it was clear he had touched a nerve.

"But we're here to talk about mine?" Harry's tempter was rising. "I can hardly imagine how difficult it is to be so petty, to hold on to twenty-year-old grudges. My father saved your life," Snape flinched, clearly thinking back to the night he had looked to expose Lupin, "yet you still cling to your childish hatred of a dead man."

"Your father got what he deserved!" Snape snapped, veins popping out against his pale skin.

Severus Snape had done quite a few things in his life he never should have, and this was one of them. His words were the spark that lit the fuse inside Harry. The relationship between the two had been virulent from the off, but this was the moment it crossed a line it never should have.

There was a thunderous _crash_ as Harry shot out of his chair, and the thick oak table in front of him slammed into the far wall. He could not remember drawing his wand, but he could feel the wood thrumming in his hand. The same whirl of destructive magic he had unleashed at the orphanage stormed inside him, and craved to be let loose once again.

"Did my mother deserve it as well!" His vision was red with rage, hatred oozing from each word. "My father gave his life protecting both us, just as my mother gave hers for me! So tell me, did she get what she deserved?"

Snape was shaken. He had paled to the point that he resembled a corpse, his lips quivering, and body shrunken back in on itself. The man's reaction was lost on Harry, as he was too furious to notice.

"They loved each other, and died for each other. They loved me, and died for me. Why don't you crawl back to your master, _Death Eater_ , I'm sure he would love to tell you about how he murdered a _bloodtraitor_ and a _filthy mudblood_ that night. If only he had gotten me as well, perhaps you would have been happy for once in your miserable life," Harry slammed his hand into the wall beside him, causing portraits to shriek in fright as they clattered to the floor.

"My father might not have been perfect, I'm sure my mother wasn't either, but don't you ever think you have the right to speak of them!" There were so many emotions running through Harry that he could hardly process them all. He focused on his hatred of Snape, it was easy, and it was all he could do to not drown in everything else he was feeling.

It was then that the door to the room burst open, and Dumbledore marched in with his light blue robes twirling behind him. His commanding presence was just enough to drag Harry's attention away from Snape momentarily.

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was hard as he turned on the professor. However, Snape was unresponsive, staring off into space with glazed eyes. For only a moment, a broken man stood in the place of Severus Snape. "Severus," Dumbledore called again, this time in a softer tone; and in the blink of an eye the man's unflappable disposition returned.

The man's black eyes flickered between Dumbledore and Harry, before settling on the latter. He reached into his robes, before deftly pulling out a rolled up stack of parchment. "Your homework for Defense… please do try to get above a Dreadful this time, Potter." He quickly spun and made to leave the room, but stopped suddenly in the doorframe. His curtain of greasy hair obscured his face, but his voice came out the same as ever, "I thought you might like to know that your Werewolf has disappeared. It seems that there is someone who mopes after Black more than you do," he sneered before disappearing, although it felt a slight bit more forced than normal.

"What have you done…" Harry heard Dumbledore whisper from across the room, the old wizard was staring out into the hallway where Snape had departed. Dumbledore slowly turned around, his eye downcast, as he looked at his pupil, "Harry…"

"Don't." Harry cut him off. Now was not a good time, his emotions were flying, he couldn't think straight, and any control he had over himself was nearly gone. "Just why…?" Harry slumped against the wall, exhaustion taking over.

Dumbledore sighed, "Severus is a tortured soul, he-"

"I don't care why he did it, he's a vile man who's better off dead!" Harry snapped, his emotions surged again like the waves on a turbulent sea. "Why did you tell him where I was… you know it always comes down to this between us," he gave a tired gesture around the room.

It was silent in the room, other than the sound of Harry's heavy breathing. Harry turned his eyes from the spot he was staring at on the carpet to his headmaster.

Dumbledore's face drooped, and was lined with deep sadness. Harry thought he saw a hint of regret in the dim light of Dumbledore's normally vivacious eyes. "It was simply an old man's folly," he started, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose, "there are times when men such as I cannot let go of dreams."

"You once told me that 'It does not do to dwell on dreams,'" Harry breathed.

Dumbledore smiled softly at hearing his own words repeated back to him, life returning to his eyes, "Yes, I did, didn't I. It is odd hearing you own advice," he chuckled softly. "Although the situations are entirely different, those words still ring true."

"I have done my best to live by them," Harry answered honestly.

"I believe it is time I take a page out of your own book and do so as well," a look of resignation came over him in that moment. "I will speak to Severus…" Dumbledore put a hand up to stop Harry before he started, "and I will ensure that the two of you will interact only when strictly necessary. Some things can never be unsaid…"

"Thank you, sir," Harry slowly moved to pick up the chair he had toppled over, "I still don't understand something, professor?"

"What would that be, my boy?" Dumbledore inquired as he repaired the massive crack that ran down the middle of the oak table Harry had splintered.

"I don't see how my mother could have ever been friends with him…"

"Friends are found in the unlikeliest of places, Harry. Sometimes bonds are forged that are strong enough to withstand the forces of the world… they may bend, but they do not break."

"Wherever my mother is now, I'm certain she wouldn't be friends with _that_ man."

Dumbledore paused as he looked out the empty doorframe, "I sometimes find myself thinking the same thing."

Dumbledore reached his gloved hand up the sleeve of his robe and extracted a small quill. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Harry. Simply say the word _Portus_ and the quill will deposit you in my office," he passed the quill to Harry.

"Sir?" Harry called out as Dumbledore made to leave, "Is what Snape said about Remus true?" his voice was soft while asking, fearing the answer he would receive.

The look Dumbledore gave him told all. "I'm sorry my boy, but even I do not know the whereabouts of Remus. I fear the events of last year were too much for his already fragile soul."

Harry knew it before Dumbledore had even answered. He had sent a letter to Remus weeks ago only to have Hedwig return with the letter still attached. It was the only time she had ever been unable to deliver a letter for him. It worried him at the time, but he pushed his fears to the back of his mind, only for them now to be confirmed.

He didn't notice Dumbledore leave the room, nor did he realize when he had as well. It was all too much for him in that moment. There was so much going on around him along with his own struggles, that he felt lost. He couldn't even rely on his own best friends because of the secrets he was keeping from them. He had no anchor, nothing to keep him from drifting away in the flood of madness that was overflowing his life.

Perhaps that was why he was heading up the stairs to the place he shared with the last person who truly understood him. He hadn't known the room existed when he first moved into Grimmauld Place, as it was meant to be a secret place. Sirius took him up there one evening when Molly was particularly forceful in her desires of having the children clean the house. It was only a small attic above the room where Buckbeak had been kept, but it was perfect.

For the rest of the summer, and during Christmas Holidays, he would sneak off upstairs and waste away the day with his godfather. It was a place for _them_ , a place where he finally had a sense of normality; where he was just a kid spending time with a person he loved.

Nothing could ever compare to the evenings he had spent in the attic. There was no better word to describe it other than magical.

There was an enchantment on the roof, one not unlike the one Rowena Ravenclaw had placed on the Great Hall, that opened it up to the night sky. But rather than simulate the beauty of the cosmos like the Great Hall, the spell allowed one to gaze past the roof and magnify the sky above. Harry was absolute in his belief that even the Centaurs would have found the room incredible, or at least Firenze would have.

He remembered how shocked he was when he first experienced the attic at night. He was at a complete loss for words, and Sirius found it particularly amusing. Sirius had told him that it was his favorite room in the entire house, and that it was the only thing he missed about it when he ran away. It was too beautiful to be found in a house like this, a true diamond in the rough.

For a family as obsessed with stars as the Blacks were, it only made sense that they had a place to watch them.

It was there he sat, elbows resting on the hard wooden floor, staring out at the brightest star in Earth's sky. He felt a source of warmth settle in beside him, and when he closed his eyes it felt almost as if Padfoot was there curled up beside him, tongue drooping, and his head nestled in Harry's lap. He wanted to run his fingers through the tangled mess of Padfoot's fur, he wanted his too wet kisses and whines for attention, but he knew it was not to be.

The scent was wrong, the figure beside him did not smell like Padfoot, they smelt too nice, too flowery, and entirely too perfect.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, his eyes still closed, thinking back on nights where he was not so lonely.

"Must I 'ave a reason," the voice was pleasant on his ears, but it was not the handsome rasp of Sirius' tone or the playful bark of Padfoot.

"If you are up here, then yes you need one," this was a private place, one Harry was not keen on outsiders being privy of. It was a place for Black's, and those deemed worthy enough to be placed in their confidence.

"When ze meeting finished, we 'eard quite a commotion from upstairs. Dumbledore said zat eet must 'ave been a boggart zat had gotten loose. Moody was suspicious because of zat eye of 'is, but 'ee already knows you are 'ere. I followed Dumbledore upstairs…"

"Where is Tonks?" Harry cut Fleur off, not caring for his impoliteness. He wanted to talk to Tonks. Tonks _knew_ Sirius, she loved him, she came from the Blacks, she was a daughter of the stars… she would understand. He didn't know if she knew about this room, but he figured she would like it.

"Tonks…" Fleur paused, there was a hint of disappointment inflected upon her speech, "eez not 'ere, she 'as gone home. I zhink she took ze news about Mr. Lupin quite hard."

Harry thought that odd, but didn't dwell on it. A lot of people liked Remus, it was a natural reaction.

"I see…" Harry spoke to himself.

"You like her?" Fleur spoke suddenly, catching Harry off guard.

"Who?" Harry's eyes opened as he turned to look at Fleur, who's shoulder was in line with his own. He felt that she was sitting rather close, but that could easily have been because of the attic's small size. Her pale eyes peered up through her silver hair, she looked oddly small in that moment.

"Tonks."

"I guess I do… we're close, she understands me." It was easy to like Tonks, easier than anything in the world. Harry figured most men thought the same, she was unique in every way possible, and that was ignoring her metamorphic abilities. She was who she was and would not change for anyone or anything, he could only imagine how difficult it was for her parents to raise her.

Harry was certain he would always like Tonks. One day in the future, if he managed to survive the war, he would be married and have children of his own, but he would still like Tonks. Maybe his sons would like her as well, it would surely be something fun to tease them about. It was just the affect she had on people, she was similar to Sirius like that.

"Do I not understand you?" Fleur's eyes bore into his as she asked the question. He felt short of breath in that moment, like the air around him was some precious resource and if he took too many it would disappear entirely.

It was an unusual thing to ask, one Harry wasn't prepared for. It was an honest question that required an honest answer; however, he was unsure of the proper way of going about it.

"I think so…" he started slowly, gathering his thoughts, "not in the same way as Tonks, or Sirius did, or even Ron and Hermione do. Merlin, even Luna understands me in the queerest ways," he chuckled to himself. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that... you do understand me, just in your own way. I mean, you followed me up here because you knew I needed some sort of company after what happened with Snape. Also, you, better than most know what it was like being in the Triwizard tournament, and how painful Cedric's death was…"

"Eet was tragic," she said sadly, her voice muffled by the hair in her face, "I did not know Cedric very well, but ze tournament, as Champions, brought us togezzer in ways ozzers would not understand. Ze pressures of ze schools, ze expectations on our shoulders, ze fear of ze unknown."

"Exactly. I don't think it's possible for a person to completely understand someone else," upon seeing Fleur's confused face, Harry continued on, "A parent will understand their child different than how a best friend would his mate. A couple understands each other more intimately than a teacher would their pupil, but the teacher might have more insight on their intelligence. I understand what it's like being a Veela just as much as you understand what it's like being an orphan. Everyone understands each other differently, but not completely…"

"But zat does not mean we cannot try to do so," her voice hung in the stillness of the air.

"No, I guess it doesn't," Harry's lip quirked upwards.

Harry wasn't sure for how long the two of them sat there. They were in a world onto themselves up in that attic, a bubble separated from the rest of reality. Gazing up into the sky, his eyes still would not leave the same star, but his longing for Padfoot began to fade. The warmth beside him was enough for now, he wasn't so lonely anymore.

"You don't seem too affected by 'is disappearance?" Fleur said, breaking the hush that had fallen over the room.

Harry's mind was still on Sirius, and it took several seconds for him to come to the realization that she was speaking of Remus.

"I don't think it's sunk in yet," he answered honestly, "What is one more person I care about vanishing from my life?"

"You speak as eef 'ee is dead."

"People disappearing under the threat of Voldemort don't usually have the greatest record of reappearing. Just go ask Mad-Eye, he has quite the depressing photograph of Order members who disappeared during the First War."

"I 'ave already seen it. I zhink 'ee uses it on every new member to scare zem into realising ze war eez not for children. As eef I did not understand zhat already," she huffed, clearly not appreciating Moody's condescending attitude towards her.

"I wouldn't worry about it, that's just Moody for you. He will take every opportunity he can to scare you, it's his way of keeping you on your toes so you don't die. Crazy old bugger told me not to store my wand in the back of my jeans or else I might blow my buttocks off, as if I did not already know that," he laughed at the memory of one of his earlier encounters with the real Alastor Moody.

"Constant Vigilance," Fleur mocked in a particularly horrid Moody impression.

"Some say that if you say that three times he appears," Harry joked, he remembered Dudley watching a creepy show where a man with green hair and a striped suit did that.

"Constant Vigilance, Constant Vigimmmphhh-"

"Shhhh," Harry smothered Fleur's mouth before she could finish her third repetition.

Fleur squirmed as she tried to escape his grip, but he held strong as her lips fought against his hand. That was until her random, frenzied movements managed to throw them off balance, causing both of them to tumble over one another.

Fleur burst out into giggles, and Harry did his best to control his laughter at their own folly. It was remarkable how quickly she had managed to flip his mood.

Watching Fleur roll on the floor, her hand covering her mouth as her body convulsed in her own amusement was odd to say the least. It was hard to place the silly girl in front of him with the normally composed, proud, and occasionally haughty witch he knew.

Was this the real Fleur or a version of her? Was this what lay beneath her detached disposition? Was this what Bill experienced whenever he was with her?

Fleur must have noticed his staring, as her prone figure now lay still on the floor with the remnants of a childish smile still on her lips, and her eyes searched for his. Her breathing was hard as a result of her sudden expenditure of energy, her breasts slowly rose and fell beneath her blouse. She was a delightful, ruffled mess that shone with true beauty. Harry would have given anything for a wizarding camera to capture that moment of candid perfection for eternity.

He wanted to say something in that moment, but he wasn't sure what. "I need to go back now… to Hogwarts," whatever it was, it certainly wasn't that.

Fleur gave a small nod; however, her eyes still bore into his own as if she knew that was not what he had intended to say.

She took his hand in her own delicate one, and squeezed gently, "Be safe," she whispered, her lips gracing against his ear.

Harry's throat had close in on itself preventing him from verbally responding.

He felt a spot of warmth and moisture at the corner of his mouth, moments before his mind finally processed that Fleur had gently kissed him there. A familiar pain shot through his chest as she left her mark, only for it to be cut off too soon.

"Goodbye 'Arry," she parted, leaving Harry clutching his chest in an attic that smelt of lavender, and with a warmth that would not go away.

* * *

The school was peaceful at this time of night, or more appropriately, this early in the morning; there was a different magic about it than when the castle fully woke up. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed wandering the castle under his cloak when he had trouble sleeping. It was just him, his thoughts, and his cloak. It was an intimate moment, something that connected him with his father, doing something James Potter would have done during his time at Hogwarts.

There was a tranquility to the atmosphere, which was drastically different than the chaos that ran through the halls during the day. The ever present chatter of the portraits was noticeably absent as they slept. The magical creations did not need it, but many still chose to do so. It was a funny bit of magic that transferred a reflection of their past humanity into a non-sentient object. He wondered if some of the portraits realized they weren't truly alive, Sir Cadogan certainly did not.

It was an odd sort of second life born through magical portraits, a false representation of someone who no longer drew breath of their own. It would be unfair to dismiss the uncanny accuracy of some of the artistic interpretations, many of which held a reliable set of memories and facts from their original counterparts, but they would never truly be who they were meant to be. It was hollow, pretending to be something long forgotten, coloring history with stories that were not their own.

Harry would never sit for a magical portrait, he had no interest in some false likeness of himself portraying itself as the real Harry Potter; voicing his secrets, divulging the stories of his past to any that asked kindly enough. His image was his own, he wanted control over who he was; and when he died, he wanted it to die with him. Let them tell their tall tales and color him whichever way they pleased, they had been doing that for years anyways. They would never be satisfied with the truth, so why give it to them.

There was a soft whining that echoed through the halls, and for a moment Harry thought it could have been Mrs. Norris. However, he quickly ruled the possibility out as he remembered that Filch and his cat did not patrol this early into the morning. Perhaps it was a pet cat of one of the Ravenclaws that had gotten loose. He did not have the Marauders Map on him at the moment, but he knew it well enough to know that he was nearing Ravenclaw Tower.

The sound grew in pitch and modulated in tone as he silently traversed the halls. There was something inhuman about it, an odd resonance, a melody laced with magic that he could not place. The way the noise travelled about the stone walls of the castle was mismatched, as if it did as it pleased and was not bound by the rules of the living. It was not the waves of sound he traced, but the trail of magic that accompanied the sorrowful cadence of this eerie song.

He turned down a corridor he had never travelled before, and one his memory could not accurately place on his father's map. It was peculiar in how sparse it was decorated, the walls being barren compared to the cluttered mess of the other hallways where portraits were practically stacked on top of one another leaving no surface uncovered. Torches lined the bare walls, illuminating the blue tapestries hung above.

He knew what he was hearing now, it was obvious once his mind had identified it. It was something he had spied Hermione doing on occasion, hidden away in the corner of the common room, hoping that nobody would see her. It was a sound he had confronted firsthand the year before with Cho Chang, and one he vividly associated with a broken girl sitting alone in a dark compartment.

It was the sound of crying, specifically that of a woman. He could hear the soft chokes of her sobs muffled in a way that suggested she was ashamed of her emotions and loathed this moment of apparent weakness.

Harry was caught in two minds at the moment. It was clear that the sorrowful figure wished to remain hidden; however, what if they needed help? He was terrible when dealing with emotions, especially those of the opposite sex; but what if him heading over could make a difference and make them feel better?

After a quick deliberation, it was a simple decision for him to make… he stepped further into the hallway towards the mysterious figure. Damn his Gryffindorish tendencies!

There was something odd with the way they cried. It sounded hollow, as if something important was missing. The whole was not the sum of its parts, where the little things did not add up. The sniffling that always accompanied the tears of a weeping individual were not present, and the breathiness of lament and the puffs of air let out between sobs were notably absent as well. It was disorienting, hearing the sound of someone crying, but noticing that the details that made it _real_ were lacking.

She stood there, beautiful in her misery, a vision of loveliness. It was impossible to tell whether it was the moonlight pouring through the windows that made her glow with such intensity that it pained the eyes, or if it simply emanated from her very being.

Harry could see the silvery tears travelling down her winsome face, as she stared out into darkness, one hand clutched at the low collar of her dress which emphasized her alluring bust. His eyes raked over her translucent figure, appreciating the exquisite form of the young woman who surely left countless men gawking in her day. It was a rare sight to glimpse her given her reticent nature, one even more so to see her truly. She was a true spectre, a presence more haunted than she herself did haunting.

She stilled as he approached. All sound cut off, like a carpet being pulled underfoot. There was utter silence as they stared at one another.

"What do you want?" her voice betrayed none of her weakness in that moment. Her voice was strong, and cut the air like shards of ice. There was a refinement about her, an elegance that could only come from a noble upbringing.

"I heard-" he started, but was cut off.

"Yes, I imagine you heard something," her voice was sweet but sharp in a way that was disarming. There was no breath to her words, simply sound. He had been to Sir Nicholas' Death Day Party, but never noticed this odd detail until now.

"I apologize, Grey Lady…" he paused as he noticed her shoulders flinch and chest heave at the name. He looked at her, his green eyes looking into her pale ones, as they shared a curious moment.

"I am not fond of the name," she spoke suddenly, her eyes far away and vulnerable… or as vulnerable as a ghost could be.

Harry's gaze turned as he laughed to himself, catching the other woman off guard. He looked back to her face as he spoke, "I can understand that."

She stared at him with her haunting grey eyes, an unreadable expression on her face, "Yes… I suppose you would." She floated towards him, halving the distance between them, "You are spoken of often within these halls. Different names from various faces with countless meanings, but still they are referring to you."

"I've gotten used to it by now," Harry rubbed the back of his messy hair, "People like to talk, and at this point I don't particularly care what most of them have to say, so I say let them do as they please."

"Perhaps, but listening for the sake of knowledge has its merits as well, there is much a person can learn if they simply open their ears and listen to what is around them," she stared right through him, almost like he was the ghost and she the living being.

"You must know quite a bit then."

She laughed at that, or at least Harry thought she did, it was difficult to tell. "I know many things, both from my past life and the countless years I have roamed these halls. There is not much else to do but listen when you exist as I do. Besides, knowledge was always my family's trait," there was a certain wit about her as she spoke that drew Harry in.

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly very interested.

"My, isn't that a bit forward?" there was a teasing smile on her blanched lips. "But, I will answer your question, it is in my opinion that the best of minds are those that hunger with curiosity," there was a hesitation about her, almost as if she was weighing the importance of her next words, "I am Helena Ravenclaw," there was a pained look on her already dead face as she answered.

It took Harry a moment to comprehend what he had just been told. His jaw slackened in an unflattering way, but he was too astonished to notice.

"As in the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, Founder of Hogwarts?" he finally managed to ask.

"Amongst a number of other honors and acknowledgments, yes," she replied, but there was something in her tone that Harry couldn't quite place. "Rowena was my mother, and I her forgotten daughter," there was a hurt to her voice, a sheen of tears gleamed from her ghostly eyes.

Harry was astounded. How had he never known this? How was it that the daughter of one of the Founders roamed the halls of Hogwarts and nobody was the wiser? He could scarce imagine the amount of knowledge she held.

"H-how does no one know?"

Helena gave him a sad smile, "I am a ghost," she said simply as she gestured down her elegant form, "very little thought is ever spared towards us. We are features of the castle, dead pieces of times long past, a novelty experience not unlike the portraits that adorn the walls. Few care of who we were in our past lives and what knowledge we possibly could hold; we only serve as examples of those who have not passed on to the other side," there was a bitterness to her cultured speech.

Harry understood what she spoke about. In his second year, he had experienced the same thing with Myrtle. To many, she was simply an annoying ghost, wailing and moaning as she flooded her bathroom. She was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, someone every student knew about but didn't care for, other than using her as the butt end of their jokes. Nobody would have thought she held the key to solving the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. It was as simple as asking Myrtle Warren her name and how she died, and one of Hogwarts' greatest secrets was unveiled by two underage wizards not even done their second year of education.

"You don't enjoy being a ghost," Harry stated.

The ghost of Ravenclaw huffed, her nose tilted upwards while her eyes peered down at him, "Does this appear to be an enjoyable existence."

"I remember speaking to Sir Nicholas once, it was about ghost's after… someone important to me died," Harry choked out, he remembered his desperation when searching him out. "Why did you choose to remain behind?"

A look of cold fury took hold of her comely face, transforming into something frightening, yet there was a fragility underneath it all. It was strange to see such emotions on the face of a ghost.

"You ask too much," she snapped at him, "I embrace curiosity, but it has its limits."

"I apologize, my lady," Harry genuinely was remorseful, he knew better than most how it felt to have people ask questions he did not want to answer.

Helena must have picked up on that fact, as she gave him a subtle nod of the head, "It matters not anymore, there is not much that can be done. I had once hoped..." she stared off wistfully, but there was a hint of betrayal in her features, "but instead I was played for a fool," she laughed bitterly as she floated beside him.

Her eyes took in what felt like every detail of his face, a curious look gracing her own, and for a moment he thought she might say something. Instead, she passed through him without a word, a shiver ran down his spine as it felt like mist had been sprayed in his face.

"You are an interesting man, Harry Potter," she spoke his name for the first time, "I am certain we will speak again," she parted, moving through the wall of the castle and disappearing from sight.

Harry shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts following his latest strange encounter. There certainly was not a lack of those in his life lately, and a voice in the back of his head was telling him that it definitely would not be the last.

He wondered if Dumbledore knew the identity of the Grey Lady, but quickly removed the notion from his head, of course he did. He figured it would be best if he kept this information to himself, Helena seemed a private person in death, and it was likely she would not appreciate her identity being spread around the school. Merlin knew how many students, and ministry staff, and scholar's from around the world would flock to get the opportunity to speak to Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter.

The woman was a mystery, and Harry could tell there was something about her she was hiding, but now was not the time to search for answers. The heaviness of his eyelids and the approaching morning of classes told him that it was time for him to attempt to catch some sleep.

Judging by the stack of papers Snape had handed off to him, there was a lot of work he needed to catch up on. Perhaps after a good sleep and a nice full breakfast he would be able to find some time between his classes to get some of his homework done. Knowing Ron, he probably had a few assignments he had yet to complete, and Hermione certainly would not be able to pass up the opportunity to help out her two best friends. A smile graced his face at the thought of spending time with Ron and Hermione.

"There you are," a familiar voice huffed from down the hall. Harry sighed, running a tired hand down his face knowing that the warm embrace of his four poster bed would have to wait just a touch longer.

Harry turned, and spotted Daphne approaching him, her wand lit with a small orb of light at the tip.

"Yes, here I am," he replied sarcastically, just as his eyes widened upon taking in her appearance. It was shocking seeing her not completely put together as she normally was. Her midnight black hair was dishevelled from sleep, tired bags hung underneath her brilliant blue eyes, and she was dressed in her nightwear. But that was not to say she did not look beautiful.

She wore a sheer nightgown with only a silvery robe loosely tied together resting on top. The gentle curves of her slim body were highlighted by the material that clung to her like a second skin, and Harry forced his eyes to her face and away from her nearly exposed breasts.

Her eyes maintained the same cool detachment they normally did, but he could see something else lurking within, something that looked almost like relief.

"What are you doing out here?" her voice was sweet as it normally was when they spoke together in private, it was one of the reasons why he knew she considered him something of a friend.

"Coming back from the Hospital Wing," Harry responded on instinct.

Daphne quirked an eyebrow at him, "Pomfrey released you at near three in the morning?"

Harry stopped for a moment as he realized just how ludicrous that sounded. "Well... I sort of snuck out, couldn't stand another evening in that place," Harry lied hoping it would be enough to convince her.

Daphne hummed to herself, not giving away her thoughts to what he had just said. It was then that Harry realized just how odd this meeting with Daphne was. Why was she searching for him? How did she know he would be here?

"What are you doing out here?" Harry returned her question, wanting to know what exactly she was up to.

Daphne remained silent, her fingers playing with the delicate fabric of the hem of her nightdress, as she gazed at him with soft eyes.

She didn't answer his question, instead asking one of her own. "Where were you?"

"I just told you I left the Hospital Wing…" Harry's eyebrows furrowed.

"You weren't in the Hospital Wing," she said simply.

Harry kept the surprise off of his face as he responded calmly, "Why do you say that?"

Daphne breathed out slowly, her eyes flicking to the floor before she looked back into his face, "Tracey helps out with Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing whenever she can. I asked Tracey to check o- to check if you were in the Hospital Wing after Dumbledore made his announcement. She snuck into the quarantine area when Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of a floo call, and saw that you were missing."

There was something with the way Daphne responded that left Harry thinking her story was not entirely truthful. He was unable to identify what it was, but the feeling would not shake him.

Harry chose to stay quiet, his eyes never leaving the pretty face of the Slytherin girl of whom he was never certain what her motives were.

"Where were you?" she asked again, this time her voice barely above a whisper. He was baffled as to why it mattered so much to her, why she cared he was not in the Hospital, and why she was looking at him like that.

"I guess that's one thing you and your methods will never find out… you can't know everything Daph," he responded evenly. He couldn't tell Daphne where he was and what he was doing, it just was not possible under the current circumstances. Hell, his best friends and members of the Order couldn't even know.

She shifted her wait slightly between her feet, and he could see her body shiver under her night clothing. He could only imagine how cold she was in the drafty castle without a warming charm. She was turned sideways awkwardly as if to leave, when she gave him a shaky nod. "Malfoy is up to something," her gentle voice barely made it to his ears, despite the utter silence of the deserted corridor.

"What?" her statement caught him off guard.

"I've seen you staring at Malfoy ever opportunity you get. At first I thought it was about what happened on the train," Harry wasn't surprised that she somehow found out what happened on the Hogwarts Express, "but you kept at it for nearly a month. It was either you suddenly developed a crush on the ponce, or you thought he was up to something."

"Is he, you know, up to something?"

"He is. There's something wrong with him, everyone in Slytherin has noticed. He's been acting more and more erratic, not getting enough sleep, not finishing his work. Pansy has been an absolute nightmare to deal with."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry knew nothing ever came for free from a Slytherin.

"I just thought you would like to know," the corner of her lip quirked up.

"Do you know what he's up to?" a hint of urgency was in his voice.

Daphne paused at his question, her eyes shined like gemstones as they bore into his, "Maybe, or maybe not. It's hard to tell… apparently I don't know everything," she turned quickly and vanished into the darkness.

 **AN**

 **Hello everyone, I hope you enjoyed this latest instalment. A lot of character interaction in this one and a lot less action, although more of that will be coming later. Also, with this chapter we have officially broken 100k words, which is a first for me. I have fallen in love with this story and it has become my #1 priority at the moment, but that is not to say I have abandoned my other one. My other story requires much more thought and planning in its creation, and has a lot of POV's, thus the updates will take longer in between those for this story.**

 **The response I received for my last chapter was incredible. Your kind words in regards to the action scene at the orphanage, and the direction the story and my characterizations are heading make my day and just fuel me to keep on writing. People have been picking up on some of the things I have left within my writing and I love seeing that, but there are also some who have missed some... which is totally okay, and I will take the time now to smooth over any problems that people might have:**

 **-There were some questions regarding the orphanage scene. Firstly, I spotted some who felt as if it were contrived, and that there was no reason for them to travel there together. Now, lets think for a moment about why Dumbledore could possibly wish to visit a place that had a significant impact on Voldemort's life. A place like the Gaunt Shack, or the cliff by the ocean... you know, _important places_. Dumbledore says that he took Harry there to show him the memory in the place it happened, which is true to an extent, but when does Dumbledore ever fully say what he truly means. His true purpose behind the visit is revealed later on in the chapter when he is talking to Harry upon his recovery, he mentions that Voldemort won't care/find out about the destruction of the orphanage because there was nothing there of _value._ I'm sure you all can figure it out from there, specifically teachergirl who's review prompted me to clarify this.**

 **-Second, some were wondering why they just didn't apparate out when done with the memory. Well, they didn't know that the Lethifolds were there until it was too late. Think about when you visit a person's house: you arrive from outside, visit, exit, and depart from outside. I imagine the same goes for wizards. You apparate outside, visit, leave, and apparate home from outside... wouldn't you find it rude if a person apparated (with a loud crack for most people) from directly within your house. I would consider floo different, because you can open and close it for whenever guests come over. Also, say you worked at the ministry or someplace else, you wouldn't apparate home from your office, you would leave the office and then apparate home. So, when Dumbledore and Harry arrived from outside, they entered the orphanage, visited and then proceeded to leave it before apparating away outside like a person normally does when visiting a place. During the battle they didn't apparate away because they were separated slightly from one another when the Lethifolds swarmed them and Dumbledore noticed their presence, and if they attempted to apparate away at that point they risked a Lethifold grabbing hold and joining them for the ride (which would not be a good thing).**

 **-Lastly to another reviewer, who felt offended at Harry's apparent 'pathetic' self, I implore you to re-read the earlier chapter and perhaps you will see why Harry was caught off guard by Malfoy on the train. (*Hint Hint - it has something to do with what Slughorn gave him to drink). Also, as shown last chapter, Harry is in no way, shape, or form 'pathetic'. I hope this clarifies any of your concerns.**

 **Next chapter should be out soon. Thank you for all your reviews, even those that aren't the most pleasant, I appreciate them all. Feel free to leave some more or PM me any specific question (I will try to answer as best as I can). Let me know your thoughts on how this chapter went, anything that has happened in the past, if you have found anymore of my hints, and what you think will happen in the future!**

 **Until next time.**


	9. Chapter 9

It had not been a good morning for Harry, things were going wrong right from the off. The charm on the boys' shower in the dorm had gone haywire as it alternately shot out great gushes of water and tiny trickles that resembled a dried out river in a desert. It would not have been so bad had the temperature not decided to randomly switch from scalding hot to ice cold as it pleased. As a result, none of the 6th year Gryffindor boys were particularly happy when they left the dorm.

Ron in a half dazed state put his robes on backwards and only noticed once they had started on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Seamus missed the trick step and nearly bowled over a herd of first year girls on his tumble down the stairs, and Dean was too busy arguing with Ginny about Merlin knew what to laugh at his best friend. Neville on the other hand was nowhere to be found, but Harry figured he must have been in the greenhouses tending to his plant projects.

Breakfast was not much better as Hermione, who was entirely fixated on her final revisions of an Arithmancy assignment, knocked over her cup of tea, spilling its hot contents all over Harry's lap and more importantly, her papers.

It took a few well cast cleaning charms for the liquid to finally vanish from the front of his robes, unfortunately Hermione's papers could not say the same thing. The parchment had an aged look about it once it was dried, but at least it was completed and ready to be handed in on time. Harry could not say the same for the schoolwork he had missed during his week of absence.

It had been weeks since he had returned to his classes, enough time for the population of Hogwarts to forget about his alleged case of Dragon Lung and return to their normal admiration of the Chosen One; no longer keeping a five-foot radius of space around him. That was one of the few things Harry missed about his phony ailment, he had never found it easier to travel through Hogwarts' crowded halls or find a space in the Great Hall for meals.

Despite the time that had gone by, he finally handed in the last of his missing Transfiguration homework to McGonagall in class that morning. There was a look of exasperation on her stern face when she took the stack of parchment in hand, but her eyes were kind enough, acknowledging the fact that hers was not the only class he needed to catch up in. The remainder of the period was focused on the principles of conjuration, something Harry had been experimenting with in his free time, and was more than capable in accomplishing. By the end of the class there was a small smile quirked at the edges of McGonagall's firmly pressed lips at a cause of his casting, Harry only hoped that she would feel the same when marking the assignments he had submitted.

Unfortunately, Harry had nothing to show Professor Flitwick in the class following Transfiguration, as he had yet to finish his Charm's work. He was lucky that the half-goblin was such an amiable man, as it took only a short explanation to the professor for him to have his deadline extended a few more days at the expense of a handful of house points. The remainder of the class was spent practicing the _Aguamenti_ charm, something he had been capable of casting since the tournament. The threat of dragon fire was a good motivator. Harry spent the rest of his time perfecting the spell silently, which was done with time to spare before the lesson ended.

It was a very wet group of NEWT students who left Charms class and its exceptionally amused professor behind as they headed down to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Blimey, you'd think Flitwick could have warned us ahead of time," Ron complained as he magically wrung the water out of his sweater into a soup bowl that he had temporarily converted into a water basin, "you think he heard our shower was broken this morning and thought he'd help us out?"

Harry laughed at his friend's joke as he wiped his glasses clean, he still had not found the time to get the charms re-applied to them.

"You do realize that you could have used the _Impervius_ charm," Hermione stated matter-a-factly as she picked a sandwich off of a platter. Her normally bushy brown hair was a bit damp, but nowhere near as wet as the mess plastered to Ron's forhead. The _Impervius_ charm worked wonders on inanimate objects, but was less affective on living beings.

Harry looked over at Ron and fought back the urge to laugh at his friend's dumbstruck face, driblets of water dripping off the end of his long and freckled nose. Obviously the thought had never crossed his mind.

"W-wha-what?! I look like I just jumped in the bloody Black Lake! Why didn't you tell me?" Ron's hands shot up in the air, the drenched sleeves of his robes showering water on a group of third years sitting to their right. His eyes flickered from Hermione to Harry, only to see that his best mate's robes were just as dry as hers. "You too!?"

Both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing at their friends outraged expression.

Ron chose not to respond with words, but rather dipped his hands into the bowl of water at his elbow and flung its contents at the two of them. Harry tried to turn away but was caught in the back of the head by his friend. He supposed he deserved it, the uncomfortable trickle of water slowly crawling down his back would be his punishment.

Hermione on the other hand was splashed square in the face, and squawked in indignation.

Harry smiled softly as the sound of his two bickering friends slowly faded into the background along with the sounds of the rest of the hall as the students enjoyed their lunch. The childish fun of his friends was something he forgot he had missed so much. At times it was hard to remember that they were all still teenagers. His mind wondered what it would be like to be a first year again. Did they know what was going on in the world, the danger they all were in? Innocence was something very hard to come by these days.

A moment of levity, like the one him and his friends had just enjoyed, was enough to lift his spirits, and that in of itself was a small victory. He would take as many of those as he could get. He knew he wouldn't be able to kill Voldemort with a bowl of water and his laughing friends, but it gave him strength and reminded him that he had a life outside the prophecy, even though at times it was hard to see it. Dumbledore always did say love was a powerful weapon.

Thinking of the old headmaster, Harry's eyes flickered to his place at the high table only to find it vacant. In fact, there were quite a few empty spots where the professor's normally sat each meal. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore were absent, along with Slughorn and Sprout as well. Snape was the professor who was keeping tabs on the assembled students, his darks eyes roaming the room as he sipped from his goblet. Harry could scarce look at the man, it had been a tense few weeks between the two since their encounter at Grimmauld Place.

Their interactions were limited and few words were exchanged, but Harry could feel Snape's piercing gaze boring into him at times during each Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He skipped over Harry often, practically ignoring his existence when a demonstration was needed, but Harry was not complaining seeing as how their last demonstration had gone. However, his public indifference towards Harry did not prevent him from messing with him at every opportunity.

Harry regularly found himself paired with either Crabbe or Goyle, who despite their brutishness were fairly competent in Defense. A dark whisper in Harry's mind told him that he had Crabbe and Goyle senior to thank for their sons' sudden increase in competency. It was an annoyance at first, doing his best to not get hit by curses that were clearly not the one's Snape had instructed to use, but Harry quickly learned to make the best of the situation. He had gotten quite good recently at batting away their spells, as it was much more discrete than a shield charm. He took a secret pleasure in knowing that their efforts to hex him were only sharpening his own skills.

The sound of a chorus of flapping wings brought Harry's attention to the parliament of owls swooping in with their deliveries. He hadn't noticed that the owls missed their morning delivery, too distracted by the hot tea burning his lap, but it was definitely strange seeing so many at this time of day. Usually there were only a handful of owls that stopped by with the odd letter for their owner during lunch, and the Great Hall was closed to post each evening.

Letters fluttered in front of the recipients and the larger packages landed with a loud _smack_ on the long wooden tables of the four houses, the hall quietened slightly as students reached for their deliveries.

Not receiving anything, Harry helped himself to some pumpkin juice and a rather large sandwich that looked to be stuffed with more meat than the others. He could see Hermione pulling off the twine of her copy of the Daily Prophet out of the corner of his eye.

"Anyone we know dea-" Ron started the same question he asked every morning, but was cut off by a sharp gasp from Hermione.

A lead weight dropped into the pit of his stomach and Ron looked green, they both knew what that meant. Without a word, Hermione passed the newspaper to Harry with a shaky hand a tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. It was with great trepidation that Harry accepted.

It did not take much searching to spot what Hermione had found. Spread right across the front page of the Daily Prophet was _**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Strikes as Abbott Home Is Attacked.**_ Beneath the headline was a photo of a burnt out shell of a house that at one point must have been rather impressive. What was most disconcerting about the photograph wasn't the destroyed home, but was the sickly green image that pulsed in the air above it, a snake slithering up and through a skull that glowed with malice.

Harry furrowed his brow as he processed what was in front of him. Voldemort was definitely getting bolder if the Dark Mark was now being used again, which in turn meant he was growing in confidence. A confident Voldemort was a dangerous one, and Harry found himself wondering how the Order and the Ministry would respond to this.

"Bugger me…" Harry heard Ron mutter from his shoulder, "she's dead."

Harry had fallen behind in the article, too busy in his own head, and quickly scanned to find what Ron was talking about. He found it finally, just a few simple words on paper, but powerful in their meaning and what they would do to a young teenage girl. Hannah Abbott's mother was dead, and father was critically injured in St. Mungo's.

Instinctively, Harry turned his head around to the Hufflepuff table behind him. He wasn't the only one, as it seemed that every other student in the Great Hall was looking there as well, except for Draco who was desperately trying to peel himself away from Pansy as he left the hall. The Hufflepuff's stared back, stony-faced, as if daring someone to speak up and ask the question everyone wanted to know. It was clear by the way they were all bunched together, students from first to seventh year, that they were privy to this knowledge before the prophet had broken the news. They were acting as Hufflepuff's should, and Harry was pleased to see Ernie and Zacharias leading their house.

Hannah was noticeably absent for obvious reasons, but Harry noticed that Susan was gone as well. It was then that he remembered how close the two girls were, and how she had been living with the Abbott's ever since her aunt died. Another person she cared deeply for had just been torn from her life. It also explained why they hadn't seen Neville today. Him and Hannah had grown close over the last two years, and Harry was fairly certain that they were dating or were on the cusp of doing so. Neville would be good for her, he was a victim of the war as well, and knew better than most how to bear the pain.

It hadn't been official until now, but the war had finally come to Hogwarts. Lines had been drawn in the sand, tensions were high, and students had been pulled out suddenly while others hadn't shown up at all at the beginning of the year. But, this was the first clear event that hit Hogwarts directly. Harry could scarce imagine what the repercussions of this would be.

"Of course it happened today," Harry said grimly as he spun back around and pushed his plate away no longer feeling hungry, "he planned it that way."

"Mate… what are you talking about?" Ron looked at him confused, his mouth still hanging open from the shock of what they had read.

"Voldemort," Harry responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Ron and Hermione both gave much more visceral reactions to the name than normal, and a few of the surrounding students yelped as well.

Not wanting to be overheard, Harry pulled out his wand and incanted _Muffliato_ in his mind. His friends were caught off guard as the spell took effect; Hermione especially, who's watery eyes narrowed, doubtless knowing where he had learnt it from.

"Voldemort planned this attack out especially for today," Harry leaned in as he spoke.

"But it said in the article that Death Eaters attacked the home late last night and fled when the Aurors came," Hermione pointed out, her normal countenance returning as she gained control over herself.

"Yes, and that is why the prophet was delivered late today. They held back the edition so they could report on the story," Harry pointed out.

"What does that have to do with anything, they were bound to report on the attack at some point. They had to, after the mess last year they can't hide things from the public anymore."

"Sure, but why not attack some family last week, why not hold out and murder some ministry employee for all to see… say tomorrow?" Harry's voice continued to rise in pitch as he elaborated his point. "Why use the mark and openly attack a Hogwarts family last night?"

"Because today is Halloween," Ron supplied. "He did it that way because he wanted the news to break today."

"Exactly!" Harry slammed his hands down on the table, some sick sensation of passion building in his stomach, "It's a game to him. He knows what today means, and now that he's back he doesn't want anyone thinking about his first defeat."

"Rather than celebrating his downfall, people will be too busy fearing him and what he might do next. It's genius… but horrid," Hermione looked ill.

"He did it for me as well, I know he did. He knows how much I hate this day, and it's his way of reminding me that he's out there… waiting for me," hot rage bubbled inside him at how Voldemort just _played_ with innocent lives as if they meant nothing to him.

"But why Hannah? Her family is mostly pure-blooded and they don't even work in the Ministry," Hermione wondered aloud.

"It says-err, in here," Ron was pale as he spoke and pointed in the newspaper, "that her father was tortured extensively under the…" he gulped, "Cruciatus Curse and won't likely survive."

 _Bellatrix_. It didn't mention any suspects in the paper, but he knew without a doubt who it was. "Neville."

Harry could see the realization of his statement dawn on his friend's faces. He knew they did not want to believe it, but Death Eaters were more than well known for their cruel tactics. "But… b-but how would they even know about Neville and Hannah. They're hardly obvious with their affections, and even then we're only suspecting that they are dating."

"I didn't tell you guys this before, but during Hogsmeade weekend the day before I got sick," Harry started as Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick look, "I thought I spotted Bellatrix apparate into Hogsmeade, but she disappeared in the village before I could follow her. Maybe she saw the two of them together…" Harry trailed off. They all knew Bellatrix and her sick obsession with Neville given their shared history, and it made him shudder to think of what lengths she would go to hurt him.

"Are you sure it was Bellatrix, Harry? Why would she be in Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know! Maybe she had a mission or something," Harry protested. He knew what he saw. Despite Dumbledore's reassurances, he simply could not take Snape's word that she was out of the country.

"Mate, I know you thought you saw something, but if she wanted to hurt Neville why not just attack him there? Bellatrix isn't known for her patience, she's bloody mad, she probably would have just done him in right there."

"Not unless Voldemort gave her orders against it," Harry returned, to which Ron shrugged his shoulders and Hermione gave him a sad, small smile.

Frustrated that his friends didn't believe him, Harry turned his head and peered behind him across the hall. It might have been because of the discussion at hand, or the questions flying through his mind, but Harry's attention was instantly drawn to the empty space beside a pouty Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione must have noticed where he was looking, or she had spotted the gleam in his eye when he turned back around, "You can't be serious, Harry. He's a bigot, yes, but he's only a student," she looked over to Ron for support, but he was less convinced.

"I don't know…" Ron putt up his hands to placate his friend, "my family has hated the Malfoy's for years, and his dad _is_ a Death Eater. But Malfoy has always been all talk, I don't know how involved he would be, if at all."

"When I ran into him in Diagon Alley, he practically admitted that he was speaking to his aunt. It must be him!"

"Just wait, Harry," Hermione called getting his attention, "Even if he was the one who told his aunt, and she was the one who attacked the Abbott's-"

"Of course she was!" Harry protested.

"We don't know that," she replied.

"Of course we do!" Harry shouted, his frustration and anger of the situation started bleeding into his voice.

"Oi, stop yelling at Hermione mate!" Harry could feel the strength in Ron's grip warning him to calm down.

Harry took several deep breaths to calm his mind. He was letting things get to his head again, and his temper was starting to run away.

He sent an apologetic smile to Hermione.

She gave him a gentle one in return. "I'm not against you, Harry… _never_ ," her voice cracked with emotion. "I'm saying that we don't have proof, and without any there isn't anything we can do even if we wanted to."

"It's true," Ron loosened his grip on Harry and patted him on the shoulder in a good natured way.

Harry couldn't sit here anymore. He was feeling restless, he needed to get up and do something. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Harry pulled out the Marauders map and opened it with a spoken phrase. His eyes scrutinized the map, travelling floor to floor and hallway to hallway, examining the castle. Most of the school was in the Great Hall at the moment, but he spotted Slughorn in his chambers and Crabbe and Goyle up near the seventh floor, which was odd since they never passed up the opportunity for a meal.

"You're not planning on confronting Malfoy are you?" Hermione questioned, but judging by the way she asked, she already knew the answer.

"Easy Hermione," Ron spoke up, "Harry's just looking for him, he's not going to murder him." Ron turned back to Harry, "Right?" he chuckled awkwardly.

"Curse maybe," Harry muttered under his breath.

He couldn't find Malfoy anywhere on the map. Just as he was about to restart his search, his eye caught the figures of Dumbledore, Neville, Hannah, and Susan moving through the courtyard and towards the main gates.

Harry stood abruptly, closing the map and stowing it back in his pocket.

"Harry," he heard Hermione's voice call to him as he stepped over the bench. "It's not Malfoy," he called back over his shoulder. He brushed past Ginny on his way out of the hall, who had just left Dean and Seamus to make her way to where he had been sitting with Ron and Hermione moments before. A slender brunette down the hall waved for his attention, but Harry didn't have time to see what they wanted. The halls were starting to fill with students pouring out of the Great Hall, making their way to their next class of the day following lunch. Harry was off for the rest of the afternoon since his normal double potions section was cancelled yesterday by Slughorn, it gave him the freedom to head outside.

Dashing around a collection of students playing Gobstones, Harry glimpsed the retreating figures further ahead of him on the cobblestone path. He needed to jog to catch up with them, and he only did so once they reached the main gates. He could hardly see Hannah who was curled up so tightly to Neville's torso, it was a wonder he was still able to walk in a straight line. There was a tightness to Neville's broad shoulders, and Harry found himself wondering what was going through his friend's mind.

"Your aunt should arrive any moment Miss Abbott," Dumbledore announced in a sorrowful voice as he pulled his wand down the surface of the great iron gates of Hogwarts, decorated with the coat of arms of the four houses. Harry could feel the spells unlock with a great force that rocked through his body, he was awestruck at the powerful protections that guarded Hogwarts… and that was just the gate. "You have my utmost condolences. If you and your loved ones are ever in need, there will always be space for you in Hogwarts," the headmaster placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, to which she gave a shaky nod into Neville's chest.

Dumbledore wore a more subdued set of purple robes that were so dark they almost looked black, but the funny green hat remained on his head. His robes rippled behind him in the cool autumn air as he turned to depart back to the castle, sparing only small smile to Harry as he passed by.

He felt an arm loop through his own and a head lean gently on his shoulder, before whispered breath tickled his ear, "She's leaving. Her aunt and uncle are taking her away and I don't think she is coming back."

Harry could hear the devastation in Susan's voice as she spoke. "And you are going with her?" he asked back, his eyes taking in the scene of Neville comforting the broken blonde he cared so much for.

"No," he felt her head turn and could feel her eyes staring up at him, but still he looked forward, "I need to stay."

Harry wasn't sure if it was because she needed to stay behind, or if she _felt_ like she needed to stay behind. He wasn't going to ask; it wasn't any of his business. All Harry knew was that she had just lost her best friend, and the last person she could confide in. Susan was truly alone now, and that was something he could sympathize with.

"Are you going to be okay?" Harry asked, finally turning to look at the girl at his side. He wished he hadn't. Her eyes were endless blue pools that threatened to swallow and drown him in the desolation that lay beneath.

She dipped her head slightly, her eyes hidden partially by her lashes, "Yes, I think so. I have Professor Sprout and the rest of Hufflepuff, some of…" she paused for a moment fresh with grief, "auntie's friends as well, and I have you."

She was so innocent when she spoke, her eyes looked up at him with something he could not return. His throat hurt it was so hard to speak. How could he tell this girl that he had chosen different from her, how could he cause her more pain at a time where she had more than enough. He knew it was wrong, he knew he should have told her that it just was not meant to be, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he brought her in to a gentle hug.

They stood there a while, in silence, until the crack of apparition announced the arrival of someone just outside the boundaries of the gate. It was a middle aged woman that arrived, who would have looked quite beautiful if it weren't for the puffy redness of her eyes and her dishevelled pair of casual robes. Hannah slowly detached herself from Neville as he quietly whispered in her ear and led her to her aunt.

"Hannah," Harry called out, his voice bringing the girl up short in surprise, having not been aware of his presence until now. Her aunt's eyes widened slightly at the sight of him as he approached. He laid a gentle hand upon her arm, and was stunned for a moment when she pulled him in to an embrace.

He did not know what to say in the moment, he hadn't planned that far in advance. For whatever reason, he was not entirely sure why, he asked, "Do you have your galleon?" He could feel her nod against him, understanding what he was asking. It would have seemed a queer question to anyone that was not in the D.A. "You know what it represents, we are always there for each other, no matter what."

Taking a half step back, Hannah looked up at him and smiled. There was a certain strength behind that smile, and in that moment Harry knew that no matter what life threw in her way, Hannah Abbott could handle it.

"We'll beat him, I promise you," Harry said for as much her sake as his own.

"I know you can do it, Harry," her small voice whispered through the wind, and for just a second he believed her.

* * *

The warmth of the fire in the hearth of the common room had no effect on him. He was cold, as he always was on this night. There was an empty void within him that chilled his soul, and nothing would ever fill it. It was a night for reminiscence, a night for dreaming, a night to think of what was stolen from him.

Dinner was a subdued affair once the news of Hannah's departure had been spread throughout the school. The usual celebration of October 31st was contrasted with the _clinks_ and _clanks_ of cutlery, and the soft murmuring of students in the silent hall. Harry had found the atmosphere much more fitting to his own feelings of Halloween.

The fire crackled in front of his eyes, and he remembered the few times he had spoken to Sirius in secret here in the dead of night. He wondered if Sirius was happy now that he was reunited with his parents. Would his parents be happy when he finally joined them?

"Harry!" Ron's voice caught his attention as he approached with Hermione. "You coming with us?"

"Where?" Harry didn't know they were planning on going anywhere.

"He doesn't know about it, silly," Hermione told Ron before turning to Harry, "the D.A. is getting together tonight."

"Oh," Harry did not know what to say, he hadn't gone to any meetings since the first.

"We thought that it would be a good boost of moral after what happened today," Ron explained, "get people's minds off things."

"We have quite a few new people who are wanting to join as well!" Hermione added excitedly. Pride rang through her voice at how successful the D.A. had become; it was initially her idea after all.

As much as he wanted to go, and practice, and spend time with his friends, he could not. Tonight was not the night. It was a time for reflection, and he felt that it would be better for him if he missed the meeting. He had debated on the idea of visiting Professor Slughorn today, knowing how much he hated Halloween as well, but decided against it. The man hadn't been seen all day, but the map showed that he hadn't left his chambers. It was clear the man wanted to grieve on his own, and Harry could respect that.

"Sorry, tonight is just not a good time. Have fun for me," Harry smiled at his two best friends, who gave him understanding ones in return before exiting the common room.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and let his mind slip away, he heard a figure approach from behind him. Leaning his head over the edge of his couch, Harry saw the upside-down image of Demelza Robins come toward him. "Hi Demelza," he greeted as he turned to face her.

"Hi Harry," she waved shyly.

"Ron and Hermione just left for the D.A." he told the girl, remembering that she had joined earlier this year.

"Oh, uh I'm not going tonight. I need to finish some charms homework… it's not my best subject," she mumbled under her breath.

"Do you need any help? I'm pretty good at charms, and I'm sure Flitwick reuses a lot of his assignments each year."

"No, no, it's okay, I was actually just about to go to a tutoring session in the library. Cho Chang said she'd skip the meeting as well and help me."

"Don't let me hold you up then," Harry replied quickly. Harry and almost forgotten that Cho still went to Hogwarts, he hadn't seen much of her since the first day of classes.

"Actually, I have a note to give to you," she said suddenly, "it's from the headmaster. I've kind of been chasing after you all day to hand it over, and only just caught you," she blushed slightly.

"Thanks a lot, Demelza," said Harry as he took the piece of parchment out of her hand, "and good luck with your Charms."

 _Dear Harry,_

 _On nights like these, I find that it is best to share a drink with those you care about. I would be happy if you could join me this evening in an attempt to confront the past and build towards a brighter future._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S. You will find me at the second finest establishment in all of Hogsmeade._

Harry smiled to himself as he curled up the letter and tossed it into the flames. It turned out that his evening would be more interesting than he first imagined. He quickly ran up to the dorm room and threw on a heavy cloak overtop the white shirt of his uniform that he was still wearing. After exiting the portrait of the Fat Lady, he slipped into an alcove and covered himself in his father's invisibility cloak. Dumbledore may have invited him out of the castle, but he was certain the other professors wouldn't believe his story for a second if they caught him trying to leave. It was a good thing he did, as he nearly ran into both Professor Flitwick and Professor Babbling on the way to the statue of the One-Eyed Witch.

" _Dissendium,"_ Harry whispered as he slipped through the secret passage, and travelled through the dark tunnel that led to the cellar of Honeydukes. He spent what felt like hours, but was likely a handful of minutes, waiting underneath the hatch for the owners to close up for the evening. Spiders crawled on the underground walls around him, but after sleeping with them for years and escaping a colony of acromantula, he paid them no mind. Finally, after the owner had left, he was able to slip out of the store unnoticed.

Walking down the dimly lit main street of Hogsmeade, Harry passed the Three Broomsticks and the raucous noise that was bursting from within. Rosmerta likely had a few specials running since it was such a popular holiday. Some of the older students each year always tried to sneak out to the Halloween celebrations that ran late into the night.

The noise slowly faded as he walked further into the village, his breath came out in great puffs in front of his face with each step. It was a good thing he had thrown on his thicker cloak, it certainly was getting cold, especially at night.

He was approaching the edge of the wizarding village when he spotted the tall figure of Dumbledore standing outside a rundown old building, staring up into the sky.

"The Three Broomsticks too busy for you, sir?" Harry asked as he approached the headmaster. Dumbledore gave him a kindly grin as he passed over an already open bottle of Butterbeer, holding his own bottle in his gloved hand.

"The Hog's Head is special in its own right," his blue eyes flickered to the well-worn sign that hung crookedly. "The butterbeer should taste the same, if not a bit stale," he chuckled.

Harry pretended he did not hear the last part and kept drinking.

"Tell me Harry, how well versed are you in apparition?"

That caught Harry off guard, it was a bit of an odd question to ask. "Not very, sir. I have only side-along apparated a couple of times, and Ministry lessons don't start until later in the year."

Dumbledore stood silent for a moment, "Do you know much about it?"

"I remember Fred and George talking about the three D's," the twin's had spent an afternoon describing their newfound ability to apparate during the summer of 5th year when staying at Grimmauld Place.

"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "The Ministry can be quite clever when they want to be." Having noticed that the two of them had finished their beverages, Dumbledore vanished the empty bottles. "Do you think you could apparate, Harry?"

This time, Harry was shocked by the question, "Don't I need to have my license, sir?"

Dumbledore laughed lightly, "I suppose that would be the legal way of doing things," he readjusted the glove on his hand. "However, it simply is a formality. As long as you are not caught apparating in the wrong place at the wrong time, I see no harm in you knowing."

"You are going to teach me?"

"I will pass on the appropriate knowledge, lead you in the right direction, and the rest will be up to you. Although, I feel as though it won't take us long," there was a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Slowly, he strode around the edge of the old inn and led Harry through a rickety gate into what looked like an animal pen. There was a wooden beam that encircled the small area on four sides, and a poor excuse for a shed in the far corner. "There used to be goats back here once upon a time," Dumbledore commented.

"That's an odd choice for a pet," Harry frowned.

Dumbledore gave a great big belly laugh at that. "Apparition can be quite tricky, many witches and wizards don't bother with it simply because they can't learn it. Now, do you remember what the ministry method is?" Dumbledore asked, to which Harry nodded, "Good, forget it."

Harry stared at the old wizard with confusion written across his face.

"The Ministry method, or the three D's as you like to say, are a streamlined, ministry approved method to learn how to apparate. Your friends will hear all about the benefits of this method and how it was perfected by ministry experts during their official lessons. I'm sure you know just how affective Ministry approved material is..."

"About as affective as trying to use a stick for a wand," Harry replied.

"Precisely," Dumbledore's eyes shined in amusement, "The Ministry method is blunt, forceful, and involves gathering and releasing your magic at once, which results in the deafening crack you hear so often. Grab hold of my arm Harry, and tell me what you feel," the moment Harry grasped Dumbledore's outstretched arm he felt an uncomfortable pull, before reappearing beside the shed across the pen.

"I felt a pull, but different to the tug you feel when using a portkey," Harry started and Dumbledore encouraged him to continue on. "It felt like I was tugging on a string, before slowly unravelling on the spot. It wasn't violent either, uncomfortable yes, but gentle. There was a moment where I felt like nothing, almost as if I didn't exist, and then I saw the shed just before I felt my body come together again."

"Aptly put, my boy, I did not expect any less," there was a keen look on his old face. "You mentioned a string and a pull, might I push you further into deducing what that sensation was."

Harry paused for a moment to think. He distinctly remembered the feeling of a loose thread being pulled, but afterwards it felt as if he was being blown by the wind or carried by the waves of the ocean. There was a natural path he had followed, one that already existed both in and around him and eased his travel through space and time. "Magic," Harry stated causing Dumbledore to perk up, "I was following the seams of magic in the space around me."

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling now, "Our world is filled with magic, and it is a shame so many are blind to the beauty around us. For those like you and me, Harry, who _see_ and _feel_ the power available at our fingertips, we can use and manipulate it to our advantage."

"Why is this not the method taught at Hogwarts?" Harry enquired.

"Alas, not everyone is you, Harry. This method, although more efficient, is far trickier than what the Ministry teaches. There is a reason the three D's are taught to the masses," Dumbledore gave him a wink before taking two steps to Harry's side, "Would you be so kind as to apparate back to where we were before?"

"Now?"

"Yes, anytime this evening would be agreeable, the sooner the better," there was a cheeky smirk on his face. "Remember what you told me," he advised.

Harry took a deep breath to center himself and gripped his wand at his side.

"Ah, I knew I had forgotten something. Your wand please Harry," he put out a wrinkled hand, palm facing upwards.

"Don't I need it, sir?"

"Why would you, if you are capable of apparating without?" was the headmaster's response as he took hold of Harry's wand.

Harry wished he knew why Dumbledore was so confident that he would be able to apparate, even though he had never attempted it before.

Doing his best to feel the magic around him, Harry closed his eyes and thought back to the moment he had stood in the center of the storm at the orphanage. He could feel the wind whipping violently across his face and the magic saturated air. Like a seeker snatching after a snitch, Harry grasped out at a stream of magic that flew past him. He latched onto the seam and gently followed its flow as he felt himself slowly unravel. He was floating in space, consciousness without a body, and for a split second he panicked when the image of his destination did not appear. He forced the image back into his mind, and landed harshly on the ground with a loud _crack_.

Opening his eyes slowly, he found himself standing at his desired location, and went to wipe the sweat off his brow in relief. However, the sweat on his brow remained untouched, driblets stinging his eyes behind his glasses. He made to wipe it again, but his arm never moved.

He heard laughter coming from behind him, and turned awkwardly to Dumbledore. "It seems you left something behind," he cocked his head to the side, pointing to where a floating arm rested in the air.

Out of all the possible reactions he could have had, Harry laughed. It was much better than screaming, crying, or fainting, but it was strange enough. There was something comical about a floating arm, he had to admit in a dark way.

Dumbledore twisted his wand around in a series of complicated twirls, and a terrible slurping sound pierced the silent night just as Harry felt his arm pop back into its rightful place. Rotating his arm around like a windmill, Harry tested it extensively making sure it wouldn't fall off. That was something he _never_ wanted to experience again.

"An admirable first attempt Harry, but you lacked faith. You must have faith in your destination if you are ever to make it there in one piece," he laughed at his own joke, and Harry grimaced unconsciously touching his arm. "Splinching can lead to devastating consequences if not done in a controlled setting," he warned. "One more time, Harry, back to me."

Closing his eyes again, Harry was able to feel the magic around him much easier. Like the rivers or roads on a map he was able to trace it in his mind and grab hold. He felt himself pulled along the path, just as the image of the shed flashed into his mind. Rather than forcing himself to his destination like before, he felt his body unify as it did with Dumbledore, and with scarce a sound he reappeared again.

"Wonderfully done, Harry," he heard the light sound of clapping beside him.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied gratefully, delighted at his success, but more so that his arm was still attached this time. "Beside the lack of sound, are there other advantages to this form of apparition?" he was genuinely curious to know.

"There are a few I can count, but I am certain there are even more than I know of," he admitted as he passed Harry's wand back. "Distances aren't so great when carried by magic, and I have found that following its trails in apparition has made it rather difficult to keep me out of places I should not be; however, there are places that even I cannot slip into without the aid of Fawkes."

"Like Hogwarts for people who aren't the headmaster?"

Dumbledore inclined his head, his silver beard shimmering in the moonlight. "The night is still young Harry, and we have only just acquired our transportation for this evening." Pulling out an ostentatious gold pocket watch with more hands and faces than necessary, Dumbledore checked the time before looking back at Harry, "If we are quick enough, we might just be in time for some dessert and tea."

"Where are we going, sir?"

"Godric's Hollow."

* * *

It turned out that side-along apparating with someone was not very different from normal apparition, only that there was a bit more resistance while travelling. It was unusual that just the name _Godric's Hollow_ was enough for Harry to know where they were going. The picture of a quaint town square with a solitary church entered his mind, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had been there once before. Perhaps it was simply the vague imprints of his memories as a baby that were reawakening.

They arrived in a darkened alley made safe for wizards to apparate into the town, given that they shared the historic area with muggles.

"Don't worry about our clothes, Harry, we will fit right in," Dumbledore said as they strode out into the open, obviously noting the way Harry's eyes kept flickering between their odd dress. He wasn't lying either, as children with their parents, small groups of teenagers, and couples alike were still wandering around town dressed up for Halloween. Dumbledore was stopped more than a few times in congratulations of his fantastic costume, to which he graciously thanked his fans. Harry scoffed internally, as if the man needed any more reason to dress outrageously.

The crowds thinned as they pushed on through to a tall obelisk that stood in front of a cemetery that ran in behind and alongside the small church. The closer they drew, it appeared as if the obelisk was shimmering in the air. Finally, when they were the only two around, the magic in the air shifted and the obelisk morphed into a statue of what appeared to be a couple lovingly huddled together. It was only when he spotted what was held within the couple's arms, that he was brought up short.

His breath hitched, white smoke pouring out of his mouth, as tears stung his eyes. It was hard for him to believe what he was seeing. He half stumbled and half ran towards the statue that eternally depicted his _family_ and their _love_.

He had seen his parents for the first time in the Mirror of Erised and had an album full of photos collected for him by Hagrid, but he never had a picture of him and his parents together. It was always hard to imagine what it would have looked like for him to be with his parents, it never felt real, but here it was in front of him. Him and his parents immortalized. Lily and James Potter looking down at the son in their arms, love in their carved stone eyes.

"They wished to commission a piece in honor of the Boy-Who-Lived," Dumbledore's somber voice reached his ears. "I managed to convince Millicent, the Minister at the time, to make the sculpture in honor of the Potter's… the way I knew they truly were," Harry turned to see that Dumbledore had matching tears to his own, running down his wizened cheeks.

"Thank you, sir, it means a lot," Harry hardly noticed that one of his hand's instinctively moved on top of his parent's own entwined ones. It was only when Dumbledore led him softly by the shoulder, that he realized how difficult it was for himself to release the cold stone.

Together the two wizards passed through a set of gates and slowly traversed the cemetery. It was an odd assortment of tombs that filled the burial ground, both muggle and magical, some practically leaking magic from beneath the earth. They ranged from graves marked with freshly cut granite to those so old that the names and dates of those beneath were lost to time.

It was a depressing game of who's who he found himself playing, with Abbotts and Greengrass', Smiths, Turpins, and many more lying in rest beneath the surface.

He was drawn to an old worn tomb that lay flat along the ground, an odd symbol of a triangle engraved over top of a half-faded name. Judging by its appearance, it looked to be one of the oldest tombs in the cemetery.

"The grave of one of your ancestors," said Dumbledore as he stepped behind his student.

Harry was surprised to hear that, he couldn't make out the whole name, but it definitely did not say Potter.

"Ignotus Peverell," Dumbledore continued as if reading Harry's mind, "an ancient family linked with folklore and the mysteries of magic. You have him to thank for that wonderful cloak of yours."

Harry's hand dug into his pocket and fingered the material of the cloak, he could feel it pulsing like the heartbeat of a living being. "How was he related to me?"

"The last daughter from his line married a Potter, and the cloak has been passed father to son since. At least, that was what James told me when he lent me the cloak to examine before your parents went into hiding."

He knew his cloak was old, but he had no idea it was _that_ old. It had been passed through his family for hundreds of years. Every other invisibility cloak he had ever come across, like Moody's, lasted only a handful of years and never compared to his own to begin with. Why was his cloak so special?

"One day I'm sure you will be passing on that cloak to a son of your own, just as James wanted to do for you. There wasn't a day that went by without Sirius and James bragging about you for one reason or another," a melancholic smile graced his lips as his eyes stared out into the past.

Harry wanted to both laugh and cry, it definitely sounded like something his father and Sirius would have done. The thought of having a son of his own filled him with a wistfulness he had never experienced before. He warmed at the idea of being the father that his own was never given the chance to be.

Only if he defeated Voldemort… only if he survived.

The chill in the air grew, sending a shiver down the base of his spine as he continued past the rows of tombstones. Dumbledore had stopped behind him moments before, but his eye was drawn to a single grave separated from the rest. There was something tragic about the white marble tomb that shone in the darkness.

They were lain together, Harry noticed as his legs carried him off the stone path and onto the uncut grass, leaves crunching beneath his feet. The world around him was cut off, his sole focus on what was in front of him. It wasn't what he had been expecting, though in all honesty he did not know what to expect. It felt so final, like it was the culmination of some journey he had unknowingly completed.

It was as he stared at the inscription of their names, the names of the two people he treasured most, that he noticed just how young they were. They were twenty-one, hardly out of their teens, and gone before their time. What cruel God would take their lives away before they were even given the chance to live? The same cruel God that sealed the fate of an unborn child to have the power to defeat a Dark Lord, a part of his mind supplied.

They gave their lives so he could live, and it looked as if he was on track for dying younger than they did.

" _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

Harry's finger traced the message. He wondered who had chosen the inscription, but quickly figured that it must have been Dumbledore. His parents had very few friends alive by the end of the war, Sirius was locked up in Azkaban, Remus was Merlin knew where, and the Longbottoms had been sentenced to a lifetime in St. Mungo's. There must have been a funeral of some sort, but not the one his parents deserved. They were heroes, _his_ heroes.

He found the words to be fitting. There was a poetic truth to them that he could not deny. He thought his parents would have liked it.

He wanted to speak to his parents, to tell them about his life, his worries, and his uncertainties of how he would survive this war; but no words came to him. It would have done him no good, his parents wouldn't have responded, they were unable to give him counsel, soothe his fears, and pass on their love. A few whispered words in front of a tombstone would not have done them justice. Simply sitting here, in the town where they had spent the little time they had together, was good enough.

A breeze ran through the air, brushing through his mess of hair, and caressing the back of his neck and ears. It wasn't a harsh chill like the wind before, but gentle. For a moment, with his eyes shut to the world, he was able to imagine it was his parents there beside him. The moment did not last nearly as long as he hoped it would, and before he knew it they were gone.

He would return one day, and when he closed his eyes, maybe they would come join him again.

Harry turned back from his parents' resting place, and found Dumbledore standing where he had stopped before, staring unblinkingly at a twin pair of headstones. The old wizard's posture was hunched, and his head dipped in what looked like shame. He did not look like the imposing figure who had taken down Grindelwald singlehandedly and stood against Voldemort, he simply looked like an ordinary old man.

"Arianna and Kendra, my mother and my sister," Dumbledore spoke, his voice raw with hurt, as Harry approached him. "To my shame, I haven't been here in many, many years. My brother kindly reminds me of the fact whenever I see him."

Harry didn't know what to say in that moment. Dumbledore rarely ever spoke of his family, and much of what he had just heard was new information to him.

"They died a lifetime ago, Harry, and I have always been a private man," he supplied, knowing Harry's train of thought.

"You grieve them."

"There is not a day that goes by when I do not," he replied solemnly, "but that is only natural for those who have lost loved ones, wouldn't you agree?" Harry nodded.

"You mentioned a brother…" Harry trailed off, his question clear in the statement.

"Aberforth," Dumbledore chuckled in an odd way, "my younger brother, although he is not so young anymore," Dumbledore scratched the crook of his nose. "You have met him before."

Harry was certain Dumbledore was mistaken, he would have remembered meeting such a man. His mind came up empty in its search, until he remembered where they had met this evening. The Hog's Head was an odd place for a meeting at any time, he knew that first hand from their not-so-secret D.A. recruitment rally. He remembered the large, grizzled wizard who manned the bar, and Dumbledore mentioned there was something _special_ about the inn. "Surely that can't be him?"

Dumbledore let out a genuine laugh at Harry's disbelief. "Oh yes," Dumbledore's gloved hand muffled his remaining laughter, "as different as night and day we are, but brothers all the same. He is not the gentlest of men, but that is necessary in his line of work."

"Your brother owns the Hog's Head?" Harry could still hardly believe it.

"Don't let that fool you, Harry, looks may be deceiving, but still he is an adequate wizard. He simply chose to live the quiet life my father had always dreamed of, or as quiet a life as owning a pub can be."

Harry turned back to look at the headstones, noticing now that one was missing.

"My father was buried on Azkaban upon his death," Harry could practically feel the heartache of his professor.

"Were you never able to claim his body?"

"The graves on the island are unmarked," he answered, "I suppose I could have eventually found his remains if I dug around enough, but I believe it is for the best if some of the spirits there remain untouched."

Harry saw the wisdom in that line of thinking, there were some monstrous people who had died and were buried there.

"I want to thank you, Harry," Dumbledore spoke up suddenly, after a moment of silence.

"For what, sir?" Harry enquired.

"I would not have had the strength to come here tonight if not for you. The past is a beautiful and terrible thing, and my own is one I have run from for a long time. It was time for me to confront my demons and make piece before it was too late, and I have you to thank for accepting my invitation."

"It was nothing, sir, I'm glad I accepted. _This_ ," Harry gestured around him, "was special for me. Sirius had mentioned Godric's Hollow in passing, but I never knew how much I needed to visit until now. I would have spent the evening brooding in front of the fireplace in the common room, otherwise."

"My sister," Dumbledore broke the gentle silence between them, "was the joy of our family, the apple of our eye, and the favorite, though my mother and father wouldn't admit it openly. Aberforth doted on her most of all…" Dumbledore breathed deeply as he paused for a moment, "Everything changed after my sister's attack. My father was gone, my mother was a shell of the woman she used to be, and my sister's magic had been fundamentally altered. Her attack had left her mentally scarred beyond what any of us imagined, she repressed her magic, fought the gift she had been given… and even _hated_ it to an extent I believe. Magic is a part of every which and wizard and should be nurtured, and when it isn't terrible things happen."

"Her magic was twisted, violent, and came out in destructive bursts. It was a wonder we had managed to control her for so long. Aberforth was best at it, she loved him most of all," he sighed, stroking his long beard with a trembling hand, "Our luck ran out one day when in one of her fits, Arianna accidently killed our mother. It was no one's fault but my own, I should have seen her for what she was, it was suicide to keep an Obscurial at home."

"Obscurial?" Harry had to grasp on to something in Dumbledore's tragic tale, it was all too much to take in.

"It is when a parasitic dark force, an Obscurus, forms within a child that represses their magic. I would not worry too much about the specifics Harry, it is not particularly important. You may do your own research on the topic in the future if you so interested, or better yet you could ask Miss Granger to do so for you."

"How do you treat an Obscurial?" Harry did not want to imagine the nightmare it would be to try and fight your own magic. Any attempt would be hopeless.

"Not much is known on the subject, only that the Obscurus must be removed from the Obscurial. However, the affliction often proves to be fatal before anything can be done."

"Then why do you blame yourself, sir? There wasn't anything you could have done; you were still a student at the time weren't you?"

"An old man's folly, Harry. It is much easier to place blame on yourself than to accept the futility of a situation. Alas, it is not so much my inaction that burdens me, but my attitude towards my poor sister. I resented Arianna for her condition and what it did to our family. I was a star student, proclaimed to be a prodigy not even a year into Hogwarts. I felt as though I was bringing notoriety back to the Dumbledore name after my father's scandal, but at the same time my family was hording this dark secret. No matter what award I won, discovery I made, article I published, people still spoke of the sad little Dumbledore girl who had no magic and the poor muggleborn mother who didn't know how to properly raise magical children. I threw myself deeper into my studies, searching for glory, while letting Aberforth clean up the scraps of our home life. I was proud, I was vain, and I tore my family apart."

A broken man stood in front of Harry now, weeping over the mistakes of his youth. He was a man who had buried his shame and grief and pain, and was exposing his deepest regrets for the first time in his life. Dumbledore wasn't perfect, Harry already knew that, but this only further proved the fact. He was a man not a God, as mortal as anyone else. Harry appreciated that, and loved the old wizard even more because it.

It was how he found himself leading his headmaster by the hand out of the cemetery.

They eventually made it to the main square of the village, now empty of the previous crowd, when Dumbledore pulled out his pocket watch again.

"If I am not mistaken, we have timed it just right," Dumbledore's tone was jolly, but it was much more forced than it normally was, dry tears marred his face. In the blink of an eye, the powerful, confident man returned, and he took the lead as he led the pair of them down the narrow, winding streets of Godric's Hollow.

Dumbledore paused at an intersection before turning to Harry, "Down this road is where your parent's lived," Dumbledore pointed to the street that turned towards the outskirts of the small town.

Dread coiled deep in his gut, as the unspoken question hung in the air.

"No," he answered as his stomach flip-flopped. "I don't need to see it, there's only pain there for me. Just being here, and seeing _them_ is enough. Maybe one day when this is all over… but not now."

Dumbledore smiled at him kindly, before continuing down their previous path. "A wise choice. You will find no answers there, only darkness. The house remains in its damaged state, another monument of the ministry. I must admit I am partial to the one we visited earlier, it serves as a better reminder of what we live for."

Together they finally approached a rundown old home that stood next to a vacant lot. Dumbledore let himself in, the door creaked behind him, and upon entering, Harry found himself inside a small interior crammed full of books everywhere the eye could see. It would have been easy to mistake the home as a muggle residence, if not for the unusual titles along the spines of the mounds of books he tried to not topple over.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore lit a lamp at the end of the hall just as a crooked old woman came hobbling down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom step, before slowly turning her aged body around having noticed she wasn't alone. She was a doll of a woman, her lined face was mostly hidden in the shadows, but the rest of her appeared so. "Albus?" her old voice croaked from lack of use, "Albus is that you?"

"Hello Bathilda," there was a smile in his greeting.

"Oh, Albus it has been years since I last saw you," the woman hobbled up to him with more speed than Harry thought she could manage. Harry was better able to make out her small figure as she stepped closer to the lamp, her deep brown eyes, white hair, all wrapped up in an ancient nightgown. "You caught me again, haven't you?"

"You were always fond of your midnight snacks, Bathilda," Dumbledore took the old woman by the hand as he led her to what Harry guessed was the kitchen. "I recall my sweet tooth had me joining you more often than not each evening."

"I never could pass up on some treacle tart before bed," she spoke as she took a seat at a small wooden table, and laid out a tray of desserts. "Who is the young lad with you?" she asked as she sipped some tea she had just heated with her wand.

"Ah, Harry I would like you to meet Bathilda Bagshot. I'm sure you have read her history textbook," Dumbledore introduced the two as he took his own cup of tea and strawberry and lemon tart.

"It's nice to meet you ma'am," Harry intoned, "your book helped me a lot in history class."

"I had to make a good one didn't I? Binns is worthless and I couldn't let generations of students fail history, too many people overlook it to begin with. They don't realize how much there is to learn from the past."

Harry moved to take a seat at the table as well, and when he stepped into the light of the kitchen he caught the way Bathilda's eyes widened.

"Little Harry Potter?" she spoke quietly to herself as she twisted her head from him to Dumbledore and back again.

"Yes, err… I'm Harry," he answered awkwardly as he saw an amused smile spread across Dumbledore's face.

"You look so much like your father did… Oh! And you have Lily's beautiful eyes," she repeated the words he had heard so many times, but still they sounded heartfelt coming from her croaky voice. "I used to stop by to visit and look after you when you were just a baby."

Harry wasn't expecting that. He picked up a large piece of treacle tart and bit into it in order to by himself some time to think.

"You like treacle tart do you?" she asked with a wrinkled smile.

"It's my favorite," Harry coughed out between bites.

"Well of course it is, I used to sneak you pieces whenever your parents weren't looking. James caught me once, but he told me he didn't care as long as I took the blame when Lily found out," she let out a wheezing laugh, amused at her own tale. "They were good people your parents, it's a shame what happened."

Harry had nothing to say to that.

"But they made you," she picked up again, "and what a child you turned out to be. You were doing accidental magic so early and so often, I knew you would be great. Just as great as _mein schatzi,_ " Harry saw Dumbledore tense across the table.

"Thank you, it's very nice meeting someone who knew me as a baby, especially someone as well-known as you," Harry replied.

"I dream of him often, mein schatzi, and the times when I wasn't so lonely. It was always so much fun having two young men who were just as fascinated by history as I was. Although, you always were more interested in folktales and legends of old," she spoke to Dumbledore, her mind lost in the memories of her past. "Did you ever find what you were looking for?"

A tense silence settled over the air for a prolonged period of time, as Dumbledore processed the question. His blue eyes slowly looked down to his gloved hand before they moved back up and stared directly at Harry rather than Bathilda. He shook his head, "In truth… I never did."

There was something about Dumbledore's words that caught Harry's attention. He had the feeling that something important had just been said, but he was clueless as to what.

"A shame…" Bathilda spoke up after finishing her tea, "I never found out if mein schatzi did either," she reached a shaky hand underneath the neckline of her shirt and pulled out a silver chain that held a small photograph. Squinting, Harry leaned in closely and managed to make out what appeared to be a willowy young man, with blonde hair and a serious look on his handsome face. "He was such a sweet boy, I never found out what caused him t-"

Before Bathilda could finish, a glowing ball of white light shot into the room before coalescing into the shape of a tabby cat. " _Albus, you are needed at once,"_ McGonagall's sharp Scottish brogue filled the air, " _there's been an emergency. Pansy Parkinson has been attacked."_

 **AN**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter. There was quite a lot going on in one day, but since when have Harry's Halloween's ever been uneventful? Harry's suspicions of Draco are growing, the war is picking up outside of Hogwarts, and all of this just means that we are in store for some exciting times in the future.**

 **No Dumbledore memory this time, instead he chose to spend quality time with his favourite student, while still teaching him in his special way. There will be more and more Dumbledore and Harry in the coming chapters, as they further expound their relationship and continue their lessons. It might be one more chapter before we see the return of Fleur, but we will definitely be heading back to _that_ situation in the near future as well. Some action will be returning in the coming chapters as well. Oh... and maybe just a hint of Trelawney for some added weirdness.**

 **Harry visiting Godric's Hollow in Deathly Hallows really tug at my heartstrings, so I decided to bring the mentor and student out there for one of their outings. I also imagine that Godric's Hollow was a place of** **significance for Dumbledore as well, given everything that happened there in canon and how his mother and sister were buried in the same cemetery as James and Lily.**

 **In response to some of the reviews:**

 **-There is a quote in HBP where Hermione says that Harry has never been more fanciable then he was during 6th year. Of course a lot of girls are going to be interested in him, crush on him, or whatever. He's an attractive young man, famous, The Chosen One, so in the eyes of a lot of people things look very good for him. Not everyone knows about his struggles, inner demons, and darkness that is a very real threat over his life, only those very close to him do. I will also say, that not every girl is attracted to Harry in that way, and everything is not always what it seems. Definitely will not be a harem, I can swear to that.**

 **-Daphne is always up to something or hiding something. She's a Slytherin's Slytherin in this story, and I'm having a fun time playing with her character.**

 **Let me know your thoughts on the chapter! Hannah's departure, Harry's impromptu lesson, their trip down memory lane, good old Mrs. Bagshot who has yet to be turned into snake food, the ending, or anything you might have picked up on. You can PM me or leave a review for any suggestions you have for me, they help me grow as a writer and improve my story, or anything else really I'm open for a chat. I love hearing from you all, and I am thankful to all those who left me in-depth reviews on their thoughts on the story.**

 **Until next time**


	10. Chapter 10

The first light snowfalls fell from the grey Scottish sky, but where children normally would be outside trying and failing to make snowballs with the thin layer of snow that coated the ground, there was not a soul outdoors. There was no bubble of anticipation for the holiday season and the many festivities that were a staple of Hogwarts activities. There was nothing so innocent as the pure white snow within the cold stone walls of the ancient castle.

Instead, the school was on a knife-edge. Tensions were as high as they had ever been, students were afraid to walk the halls alone and had become well accustomed with checking their backs everywhere they went. Ever since Pansy Parkinson's attack, a veil of paranoia settled over the student body. One would be hard pressed to find any lower year students without a prefect around them, or upper year's not clumped together protectively. There was no amount of reassurances from the professors that could ease their worries.

Pansy had yet to wake up from her attack, and despite how unpleasant she was to be around, Harry felt a hint of pity towards the girl.

Upon receiving the message, Dumbledore's entire body tensed and his demeanor became as cold as ice. They spared only a few words of apology to Mrs. Bagshot for their abrupt departure, before exiting her house and Dumbledore immediately apparating the two back to his office. From there he moved directly to the Hospital Wing with Harry struggling to keep up with his brisk strides. It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that both Pomfrey and Snape did not object to his presence upon approaching Pansy's bedside.

There were no physical wounds on the outside, her porcelain skin remaining as impeccably clear as always. From what he heard around him as the professors spoke in hushed tones, was the it was inside where the problem lay. Her mind was in tatters, like the time Ripper had acquainted himself with one of Dudley's stuffed bears. Pomfrey had called in experts from St. Mungo's, and all they had managed to do was further scramble the mess that was inside her head. He heard some of the healers from St. Mungo's tell Dumbledore that she was a lost cause, and that they had taken the liberty in contacting her family. Dumbledore thanked them for their efforts, before excusing himself to go meet her father at the floo in his office.

Harry made to follow the headmaster, knowing his presence would come into question if he stayed any longer, but paused momentarily at the carved wooden doors. The dark figure of Severus Snape stood off in the corner on his own. The man was as stiff as a statue, his near black eyes stared unblinkingly at the girl laying peacefully in the bed. His wrist and neck were clenched so tight that he could practically see the blood pumping through his protruding veins. It was then that Harry remembered this was one of his students, a Slytherin, someone who fell under his protection as Head of House, and that part of the blame would be placed on his shoulders. It was an impossible situation to be in, but still Harry could hardly scrounge up the ability to feel bad for the man.

From what he had heard in recent times, she lay in the Hospital Wing still as a corpse. Her condition did not deteriorate nor did it improve, she lay there in limbo waiting for the spark of her life to be snuffed out.

A vigil was held for her this past weekend by a group of her friends in Slytherin. A handful of some of the more compassionate students from each house stood by for a short while before departing. Harry had attended, hidden off in a dark corner beneath his invisibility cloak. Tears were shed, a few even by Draco, and there were many whispered words of regret passed on to the blonde boy who stood by looking as if he had not heard a thing.

The school had not shaken its dispirited feel since.

"Potter," Harry turned at hearing his voice as he walked through the lower floors of the castle having just left the kitchens after a snack. He spotted the dark, lean figure of Blaise Zabini dressed in his Slytherin robes down the corridor.

"Blaise," he greeted, waiting for the boy to catch up.

"You know it's not safe to wander the castle on your own anymore. Especially you in parts like these," Blaise smirked as he matched his stride to Harry's.

"We're more in Hufflepuff territory if you want to get into specifics, and I'm more than capable of watching out for myself," Harry replied evenly. He hadn't spoken to Blaise in a while, and was curious as to what the boy wanted.

"We're still underground, Potter, which is much more familiar to us than your kind up in your towers."

"I won't even ask how you know that information."

"I won't ask how you came across yours," he replied easily.

"I know the castle better than you think," Harry quipped.

Blaise simply hummed in response, his hands crossed in front of his body in clear view. "I've missed you at Slughorn's last few parties, not as much as old Horace, but enough to make the evenings less interesting."

"Snape likes handing out detentions the day the invitations are passed out, it's really an odd coincidence," Blaise smirked at Harry's obvious sarcasm. "I was also sick for an entire week if you've forgotten, but I apologize for not being on hand to entertain you those lonely nights."

"I said less interesting, not entertaining. There are plenty of pretty skirts to keep me entertained, like Weasley's little sister, a right fire cracker that one."

"You have no idea," Harry laughed.

"Marcus Belby blubbering around like a fish out of water, and McLaggen making a fool out of himself trying to get in Granger's knickers was amusing at first, but it's starting to grow stale. We need more Chosen One in our lives to spice it up," he jested as they turned a corner to a hallway filled with rows of empty classrooms. "You'll be at his Yule party won't you? It's the day before term ends, which will let us sleep our hangovers off on the train."

"I have no reason not to go, I'll be there," he hadn't thought much on Slughorn's parties as of late, but he was open to going. It sounded like a good way to end the term, as long as Dumbledore didn't schedule a lesson that evening.

The two of them had spent the previous evening watching a particularly unsettling memory from the perspective of a former magical law enforcement officer. The man, Ogden, was tasked with bringing in Morfin Gaunt for questioning for his role in attacking muggles in the neighbouring village. It was bizarre listening to others converse in Parseltongue as the Gaunts did, but it was obvious they took great pride in their apparent Slytherin heritage. The Gaunts were mad, twisted from generations of inbreeding in the attempt to keep their lineage pure, and were disconnected from reality thinking they were above any sort of law. The memory ended violently and eventually led to the arrest of both Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt.

Most importantly, Harry had learnt the origins of Voldemort from the memory. He met the Gaunts and the terrified little witch, Merope, who later would be Voldemort's mother; and his handsome young muggle father, Tom Riddle, had been present as well. He pitied the muggle man who had been trapped under the effects of a love potion, and wondered if Merope did in fact inherit some of her family's madness.

Dumbledore had asked pointed questions pertaining to the pride and arrogance of the Gaunts, and their delusions of grandeur. He emphasized their focus on the importance of their lineage and how they treasured the family heirlooms more so than their own lives and comfort. Dumbledore specifically spoke on the ancient ring Marvolo wore, with the same sign he had seen on his ancestor's grave in Godric's Hollow engraved on it, and Salazar Slytherin's locket. Again, he felt as if Dumbledore was leading somewhere with their discussions, but still he hadn't managed to quite figure it out.

"… Potter?" Blaise's voice flickered into Harry's consciousness, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" Harry replied, looking over at the dark skinned boy next to him.

"You got lost there for a second, Potter," Zabini chuckled, "I was saying, I heard Weasley has been on rocky waters with Thomas as of late. Seeing as how I'm her type, I was thinking maybe I would swoop in and snatch her up for the party," Blaise's white teeth peeked through his charming smile. "You have a date in mind?"

"None at all," Harry laughed as they approached the final classroom of the hall. Harry wasn't entirely truthful in his answer, he had an idea of who he would like to take, but none that were realistic.

"Maybe we could help with that," a voice from his side caught him off guard, as a pair of hands grappled with him and pulled him into the empty classroom.

Whoever was attempting to restrain him was strong as he struggled to free himself from their iron-like grips. With a desperate jerk, Harry managed twist himself just enough to free his holly wand from his holster and jam it under the chin of the figure in front of him.

"Hold up, hold up…" the panicked voice of the male in front of him settled the room, as Harry felt the arms around him loosen.

Harry still kept his wand in position.

"What the hell was that," Harry ground out between clenched teeth as he turned to Blaise who sauntered into the room as casual as always.

"They wanted to speak to you," Blaise shrugged his shoulders, "I engineered this little meet up after I saw you go to the kitchens earlier."

"You couldn't have asked me nicely!?" Harry almost yelled, looking at his 'friend' with a disbelieving look on his eyes.

"What if you said no?" Blaise countered.

"I wouldn't have," Harry shot back, wanting nothing better than to smack the smug Slytherin over the back of the head.

"How was I supposed to know that," he shoved his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the arch of the doorway. "I got him here boys, you're up," he chirped at the two figures.

"Piss off Zabini," the person behind Harry laughed as he tossed him a couple galleons, he could feel their wand slowly retreat from his spine. Harry thought they sounded familiar. "Easy Potter, you can let go of Pucey now."

"Shafiq?" Harry was able to place the voice now. He lowered his wand from Pucey and turned to see the smirking face of the olive-skinned seventh year. "Are you telling me that both of you couldn't have just come up and talked to me like a normal people, why did this have to be so covert?" Feeling a headache forming behind his eyes, he thought how it was times like these that he was happy he chose not to join Slytherin.

"Have you been Confunded these last few weeks, the school is on the verge of blowing up like a bad potions experiment," Harry turned back to Adrian, who was rubbing a wand-tip sized welt underneath his chin, his brown hair hanging well past his shoulders. "The worst thing for us would be seen going up and talking to you."

"Am I not special enough for you anymore?" Harry mocked.

"Potter, even _if_ I wanted to see what is hidden behind those robes of yours, I would find myself at the back of a never ending line of thirteen-year-old girls with your name on the back of their favorite Quidditch jersey," Pucey grinned in response.

"Not to mention you would have to deal with-"

"As much as I want to hear you all banter," Blaise interrupted Shafiq, who shot him a rude hand gesture, "can we move on to the main purpose of this rendezvous."

"What do you want from me?" Harry felt relieved that they were finally reaching the crux of the matter.

"We want to know what happened to Pansy," Pucey's voice lost its playfulness, as it hardened along with his demeanor.

"What makes you think I know what happened to Parkinson? I know just as much as you do." Word on Pansy's condition had spread quickly in the days following her attack. Sure, Harry knew a few more of the specifics having been present in the Hospital Wing, but pretty much everyone in the school had a general idea of what happened.

"We know what's wrong with her, and that she's as good as dead, but we want to know who did it to her. Slytherin is getting restless, Malfoy hasn't spoken a word in days he's so sad, and we want answers."

"What answers do you expect me to give you. You don't think I did it?" Were people thinking that he had attacked Pansy?

"We wouldn't be here standing, and talking if we thought you did," Shafiq replied simply.

"Listen Harry, we get it. We know Slytherin has some loose cannons who can't keep their wand to themselves and curse the odd mud-muggleborn or two, but this went too far," Harry could see the emotion on Adrian's face. It was clear Slytherins cared for their own. Didn't the Sorting Hat say something about finding true friends in Slytherin in his song during first year?

"You think one of my friends did it?" realization dawned on Harry, and a sick feeling took hold of his stomach at the thought of the possibility.

"Who else would have? Slytherin has been seen as a bully for years, the Dark Lord comes back, Abbott's parents are attacked and she leaves school, and then Pansy Parkinson who's been a right bitch to anyone outside of Slytherin for years just turns up brain dead," Pucey ticked his fingers as he listed his points. "It's not some grand coincidence, I think it's pretty damn clear what happened."

"Maybe you have a bad egg in that big batch of friends who meet up in that defense club of yours, or maybe a group of people thought it was time they stick it to a Slytherin and it got way out of hand… you can't deny the motive was there, Harry," Shafiq reasoned with him.

Harry paused for a moment, bile rising in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it back down, before settling himself with a series of breaths. He wanted to tell the Slytherin boys in front of him that they were wrong, he wanted to scream and rant and tell them to take their accusations and stick it up their arses… but he couldn't. The cards were stacked against them, and it all made too much sense.

"Have you asked Daphne?" Harry tried a different approach, not wanting to think any further on the possibility that one of his friends was capable of something like that. "That girl knows everything that goes in the school, has she not said anything."

"You don't think we tried?" Pucey laughed in exasperation, his hand running through his long hair. "Greengrass doesn't say anything she doesn't want to."

Harry looked to Shafiq, who shook his head, "She didn't tell me a thing," he admitted.

Harry's eyes finally turned to Blaise who had remained silent for most of their discussion, "Me?" he chuckled as he pointed to himself, "I'm friends with her, sure, but that doesn't mean we share secrets. Good luck getting anything out of her."

Harry sighed knowing that was exactly what he had to do.

"Let me figure out what happened first," Harry pleaded, to which the boys begrudgingly nodded their heads in acceptance. "Just tell Slytherin to try and not kill any Gryffindors, please."

* * *

It had taken much longer than he had hoped to find Daphne, as days went by without him getting the chance to speak with her. They shared nearly all their classes together, but she would always arrive with the rest of the Slytherins preventing him from starting any sort of conversation and would immediately vanish once the class was over. She had even moved across the room from Harry in Potions, citing Ron's subpar ability as a hazard to her own brewing. Slughorn was more than happy to oblige, having taken a liking to the talented student.

His patience was wearing thin as it seemed as if she was toying with him, knowing that he wanted to speak with her.

It was on the weekend during a trip to Hogsmeade that he finally found the opportunity to speak to the girl. Harry was on his way to Mr. Warren's when he spied her silky black hair peeking out from underneath a forest-green hat matched with a scarf of the same color. She stood in front of a store next door that sold and commissioned magical artworks, with Tracey just off to the side.

Not wasting the opportunity, Harry slipped between the two girls and hooked his arm between hers, eliciting a small squeak in surprise. He continued on, leading her through the small painted door of his original destination. "Hello Mr. Warren, do you think you can reapply the normal charms to these?" Harry asked the kindly old man who stood stooped over the counter as he passed over his glasses with one hand, the other arm keeping Daphne close by so she wouldn't leave.

"Of course Mr. Potter," Mr. Warren replied in an ageless voice that carried a hint of pride at the fact he was charming Harry Potter's glasses, "they'll be ready in fifteen minutes," he whistled a light tune to himself as he wobbled to the workshop in the back of his store.

"You could have gone to a genuine enchanter for that," Daphne commented as she wrinkled her nose at the homely store they found themselves in.

"I like Mr. Warren well enough, thanks," Harry responded curtly. "He's quick, he does a good job, and he charges me a fair price."

"I could have been on a date you know," Daphne stated while moving off of Harry's arm.

Harry scoffed at that, "With who, Tracey? I'm not an idiot Daphne, don't treat me as such."

The dark haired girl frowned knowing he had her. "Okay," she straightened herself before crossing her arms over her chest, "what is it you want?"

"I want to know what happened to Pansy," he answered getting straight to the point.

Daphne paled at the mention of the name. She tried to hide it as best as she could, but he could see how affected she was by what happened to the girl. Sharing a dorm with someone for six years forges connections between people that are hard to ignore, despite whatever differences they had. "There's nothing about Pansy that needs to be said, ask anyone and they'll tell you what happened."

"I'll tell you where I was the night you found me up near Ravenclaw Tower," Harry spoke up suddenly, stopping Daphne midway as she was making to leave. There was a pleased smirk playing on her lips as she eyed him critically, before stepping closer to him again.

"Interesting…" she breathed, pushing a strand of loose hair back behind her ear, "an exchange of information. At least you're not asking for it for free," she hummed through pressed lips.

"You've done it before," Harry pointed out, remembering her warning about Malfoy.

"Maybe I was feeling generous," she quipped as she leaned against the front counter, frowning at the dust that now marred her cloak.

"Are you?" Harry tentatively asked, he was hoping she was. He didn't particularly want to tell her anything about the evening he ran into her after speaking to the Grey Lady, but was prepared to tell her something if he could find out more about Pansy's attack. He wanted, no, _needed_ to know what happened to the Slytherin girl.

"Not particularly, but I can be tempted."

"Well I'll tell you then," Harry was confident that he could come up with a convincing enough lie, with just enough of a nugget of truth to be believable.

"No." Harry was not expecting that response from her. "I'm not terribly interested in what you were doing wandering the halls anymore," she let out a bored sigh as if the information was beneath her. Harry was sceptical of the fact that she had suddenly lost interest, but perhaps she figured that whatever he was going to tell her was likely to be a lie.

"What do you want then?" He was growing tired of all these Slytherins and their mind games.

"That's a _very_ dangerous question to ask someone, Potter," there was almost a lethal smirk on her face as she spoke.

"Yes, well, I'm sure I will survive whatever _evil_ you submit me to, Daphne," he replied flippantly, just as Mr. Warren returned from the back of his shop with Harry's glasses wrapped in a piece of cloth. "Thank you," Harry smiled kindly as he passed over his payment with a few extra sickles, to which the old man shook his hand and thanked him graciously.

Replacing his spare spectacles with the newly charmed ones, Harry smiled to himself as the added clarity and sharpness of the world came into effect around him. He had missed the benefits of his charmed eyewear, and had quickly grown tired of having to wipe his lenses during Quidditch or when his hot breath fogged the glass in the cool outdoors.

"You are going to take me to Slughorn's Yule Party," Daphne essentially ordered Harry as they exited the shop together. Harry was brought up short, caught completely off guard by her request.

"Why? You're already going, there's no way Slughorn doesn't invite you," Harry pointed out as he regained a semblance of control and moved to catch up with her as she continued to walk down the street.

"You know the amount of influence Slughorn wields and the circle's he runs in. If I go there alone, I won't be spared a second look by any of his guests, other than the handful of drunken oafs who have a taste for underage witches," Harry had to admit she made a fair point.

"Isn't your family fairly important or something?" Harry pointed out, vaguely remembering something about the Greengrass family and their wealth. Harry wasn't well versed in the intricate politics of Britain, nor did he particularly care either.

Daphne gave a tired sigh in response, clearly noting Harry's ignorance on the subject. "If they wanted to discuss something with my family, they would go speak to my father… not his daughter who hasn't graduated from Hogwarts," she replied simply.

"Why not take McLaggen or someone, he seems like his family is pretty well connected."

"McLaggen is a dolt," her nose twitched in disgust at his name, Harry found it to be rather cute. "He might be one of the most attractive wizards in the school, but he's as dumb as a troll, and as likeable as those Skrewts Hagrid made us raise in fourth year."

Harry laughed, having had come to the same conclusion about the seventh year Gryffindor. Nearly every evening, Harry would hear the boy loudly complaining in the common room to his crowd of admirers of how unfair it was that _he_ the 'better' keeper was kept off the team. Cormac had quieted down for a few days after Gryffindor's opening victory against Slytherin earlier that month, but his rallies had made a comeback in recent days. There was nothing Harry wanted more than to use some of the Prince's more entertaining spells on the arrogant oaf. Hermione had caught him the first time he had attempted it, and lectured his ear off on how irresponsible it was of him to do so. Instead, he took his pleasure in using them on Crabbe and Goyle whenever he could get away with it; Ron had even joined in on the fun as well.

"So… me," Harry surmised.

"Yes, you. There won't be a single person at that party who won't try their best to sneak in a word with you, and I will be there to swoop in when they do," there was a pleased smile on her face, her cheeks rosy from the bite of the wind, and a gleam of satisfaction filled her eyes.

"You're using me," Harry said bluntly. He wasn't accusing her of anything, it was merely a statement of fact.

"Helping you more like," she replied, tugging on his arm and leading him into Honeydukes to pick up some sweets.

"What if I wanted to go with someone else?" Harry posed the question without a real purpose in mind.

Twisting around on her hip, Daphne gave him a blank stare as if she found the question utterly foolish. Standing only a few inches away from the girl, Harry very quickly found himself thinking the same thing. Having already gone through the torture of finding a date for the Yule Ball, Harry knew the pains he would have to go through to find someone for this. Daphne was cutting that part out, and he had to admit that he would be hard pressed to find a more attractive witch to take. That was also ignoring the fact that he enjoyed the time he spent with Daphne, and their quick witted conversations that kept him on his toes.

"Who? Are you thinking of taking Jones?" Daphne enquired, a queer look sat on her face as she paid for a bag of Liquorice Wands.

Harry flushed at the question, "No," he denied. In truth he never had considered taking Megan, she just didn't seem the type to want to go attend fancy parties; he liked that about her.

The same look travelled to her eyes, "Good luck with that," she flipped offhandedly.

"Alright, we'll go together," Harry ceded as they head across the street to the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta took note of their entrance, signalling that she would be with them in just a moment as they took a seat in one of the booths. The two sat in silence for a moment as they waited for Rosmerta to come take their orders.

It was only when Rosmerta came out with their drinks and the plate of chips Harry had ordered, that he took out his wand and cast _Muffliato_. A confused frown formed on Daphne's pretty face at the sudden buzzing noise in her ears. "Just a privacy charm," Harry explained before continuing, "now, who is responsible for Pansy?" A bubble of anticipation as well as nervousness built within Harry now that he would finally get the answer he was searching for.

Daphne took a long sip from Butterbeer, her hand wiping the thin layer of foam that lined her upper lip, before she answered. "I don't know."

It took a moment for Harry to process her words. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and it stood there gaping until he forced it close with a _snap_. "What do you mean, you don't know?" Harry didn't want to believe her. He fought the overwhelming sense of disappointment, instead choosing to focus on what Daphne had to say next.

"As you so kindly pointed out to me in the past, _I don't know everything_. Trust me when I say this, I want to find out who did this to Pansy just as much as you do," she grumbled over the rim of her glass.

Harry made to leave. This was all a huge waste of time, his temper was fraying, and he was frustrated beyond all belief at his lack of progress. He needed to blow off some steam, perhaps go on a walk in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. He hadn't seen his half-giant friend much this year.

He stopped, as the feeling of a soft hand on top of his own froze him in place. "I don't know _who_ did it, but that doesn't mean I don't know anything about what happened that night."

Harry sat back down, maybe he would learn something after all.

"The healers from St. Mungo's mentioned that Pansy was attacked between four to five hours before she was found. That doesn't look good for your friends, seeing as their little defense meeting ended around that time," Daphne gave him a sympathetic look upon seeing the discomfort on his face. "I can give you a list of people who I know _didn't_ do it, if that makes you feel any better," she offered.

Harry nodded, narrowing the field would only be a good thing.

"Granger, Weasley, his sister, Lovegood, Thomas, Finnigan, Brown, the Patil twins, and Bones," she listed, "Astoria went down with them and Macmillan to the kitchens after the meeting." Relief flooded Harry at her words, he never suspected Ron and Hermione for a moment, but the confirmation was still appreciated. "Boot was busy exploring broom closets with his girlfriend, and Goldstein was in detention with Sprout for spilling over one of those rare South American plants she had shipped over this year."

"And the others?" Harry said with a sinking feeling.

"Now you see why I don't know," she leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "Longbottom hasn't been seen muc-"

"Wait, you can't seriously think Neville did this?" Harry cut her off.

"Longbottom hasn't been seen much lately," Daphne repeated with a clipped tone, clearly not appreciating having been interrupted, "Pansy wasn't one to take it easy on him over the years, and with what happened to Abbott…" she trailed off.

"So you think it was Neville," Harry inferred, not liking what he was hearing.

"Chang," Daphne continued, rather than answer his question, "has not been the same since Diggory died. Her behaviour has been erratic at best ever since, and she's an emotional mess. You know that better than anyone," she smirked. "She was out about the castle after tutoring that new chaser of yours, maybe Pansy caught her at the wrong time and Chang snapped."

Neville and Cho, both people Harry thought he knew pretty well before the incident. The situation was not looking promising.

"Then there is any amount of the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors that are unaccounted for," she added. "You could even throw Malfoy's name in there if you wanted, as suspicious as he's been acting this year… though he's been pretty broken up about the whole thing, so maybe not. Word is he went home for a couple of days after meeting with her father, the man was hoping they would marry after graduation."

"So it's hopeless," Harry surmised, rubbing a tired hand through his hair and down his face.

"I wouldn't say so," Daphne disagreed, "eventually somebody will say something to the wrong person at the wrong time and I'll find out. Let's just hope it is sooner rather than later, and before the hallways turn into a warzone and I'm forced to go to class under a Disillusionment Charm."

"That's what the first war was like apparently," Harry said, remembering what Sirius and Remus had told him about their last few years at Hogwarts. "Nobody was safe. Fights broke out before, during, and after class, everyone was suspicious of each other, and the teachers could hardly maintain any semblance of control. Merlin I hope it doesn't come to that," Harry admitted, before finishing off his glass of Butterbeer and bringing it down with a _smack_ on the table.

Conversation came easy after that, the mood of their little booth turning to a lighter tone. They discussed defense class under Snape, and the vast improvement of the course in comparison to years past. As much as Harry disliked the man, Daphne managed to drag a few reluctant words of praise from him towards his aptitude to teaching the course. They steered clear of serious topics, discussing what their friends had been up to and any interesting gossip around the school. It was here where Daphne shined, showing off the true breadth of what she knew of the goings on at Hogwarts.

After a while, Daphne had turned to probing for the reason behind his sudden success in potions class. She tried to hide it, but he could tell she was frustrated at the fact she no longer was topping the class. "Come off it, Harry," she leaned in while speaking, strands of loose dark hair covering her forehead, "Snape must have given you tutoring instead of remedial potions."

Harry laughed at that, "the last thing Snape would ever do is take time to _tutor_ me." Harry's Occlumency lessons were more akin to torture than tutoring. He knew it was the most effective way of teaching, but it wasn't pleasant by any means.

"Then I give up!" she threw her hands in exasperation, a carefree grin spread across her face, "There is no logical explanation as to ho-" Daphne stopped suddenly, her eyes staring intently at a spot just over his right shoulder. "Isn't that the French Triwizard Champion?"

Harry's heart started to beat faster at her words. What was Fleur doing in Hogsmeade of all places? Had she come to visit him? It had been weeks since he had last seen her, with only a handful of letters exchanged since then.

Harry quickly turned around, his eyes immediately finding her. Her silvery blonde hair was tussled from the cold wind outdoors, a delicate rose painted her cheeks, and she was bundled up in what looked like an oversized brown coat. _She still didn't have her own_ , Harry remembered how he had promised to buy her one for Christmas. The beating of his heart slowed, and an uncomfortable feeling constricted his chest when he spotted who had accompanied her.

"Why is she coming this way?" Daphne's voice was cold and a frown settled on her face as she spoke.

Harry hadn't noticed it at first, but they were in fact approaching the booth he was currently sat in with Daphne. Clearing his features, Harry put a smile on his face.

"Hey Harry!" the cheery voice of Bill Weasley called as he approached, looking as cool and confident as he always did; with his red hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, the dragon tooth earing swinging with each step, and what looked to be a brand new tattoo peaking up just beneath his collar. "How's term been? Defense still your favorite?" he asked, extending his hand for a shake. He didn't seem to notice the Slytherin girl right next to him, or perhaps he simply chose to ignore her.

"Good," Harry's voice was dry and he almost choked. "Lots of interesting stuff. And yeah, even with Snape I still like it," he forced a laugh.

"I pity you," he smiled, slapping him on the shoulder in a good natured way, "I sent chocolates to Ron and Ginny straight from Germany when I found out, it's the least you all deserve for that."

"Ron and Ginny passed them around the common room the day they got them. They were tasty, thanks."

"It's no problem at all, Harry," he gave Harry a toothy grin before stepping in closer. "Speaking of those two, do you have any idea where I can find them? Thought it would be nice to surprise them after not seeing them all Summer."

"I didn't head down to the village with them today, but…" Harry paused for a moment to think. Looking up at Bill, who was waiting patiently for his response, Harry couldn't help but wish he had an older brother like him. Despite the large difference in age, he treated Harry like an equal, and spoke to him like he truly cared. It only made him loathe, the bitter feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. "I'd check Zonko's or Honeydukes, that's usually where they visit first. If not, try Scrivenshaft's next, Hermione likely would have dragged them out there."

"It was good seeing you, Harry!" Bill gave a cheery wave, "I'll see you at Christmas," he parted, stopping for a few whispered words and a kiss on the cheek for Fleur, before leaving the pub behind what looked to be Megan and Katie.

There was a moment of silence after his departure, during which Daphne looked quickly between Harry and Fleur. "I think it's time for me to head back to the castle," she spoke, Harry thought he heard a tinge of annoyance in her stilted words. She stood, brushing some of the dirt off of herself, and made to leave but paused mid-step, "I… had a good time, Harry," she half whispered, turning and leaving no sooner than the words had left her mouth.

Harry was stunned not sure what she meant, until he realized that they had spent the entirety of their afternoon together. Was this considered a date? Harry pushed the thought from his mind.

"I remember 'er," Fleur spoke up for the first time as she replaced Daphne's position. "She was ze one who discovered some of ze more embarrassing moments of my Yule Ball date."

"Sounds like Daphne," he remarked, pushing the plate of the remaining chips in Fleur's direction, to which she silently declined with a wrinkled nose.

"She zhen made me tell 'er about ze second task and my strategy for it, in order to prevent 'er information from slipping out 'accidently'," she added, obviously not liking the girl much after that.

"Definitely Daphne," Harry confirmed with a laugh.

"Zat eez dangerous, non? Looking out only for oneself," it sounded like Fleur was warning him, her eyes looking at him intently.

"I think she would take that as a compliment," Harry said, in fact he knew she would.

"I would not trust 'er affections towards you," Fleur stated in a matter-a-fact way. Harry was about to speak up when she continued on, "she will leave when eet gets too difficult, I know ze type."

Harry chose not to say anything, mostly because he did not know what to say to Fleur. Daphne was very Slytherin in her approach to life, which meant self-preservation was to be expected, but that didn't mean he knew exactly how she thought. Besides, he didn't know what her feelings were towards him to begin with, and wasn't planning on putting in the effort of figuring that out at the moment.

"Hogsmeade…" Harry chewed on the word, breaking the silent awkward air between them. Harry vividly remembered the night he had shared with Fleur under the stars, and the warmth she had provided him, helping him escape the lonely dark place he often retreated to in himself. There was just something about her that drew him in and managed to fill the void deep within his person. There were words unspoken, things he wanted to say, but just couldn't voice. He couldn't be the only one that felt _something_ whenever they were together… at least he didn't want to be, "… a nice a place as any for an afternoon date," Harry forced his foolish thoughts from his mind.

"Eet is not much of a date," she pulled her hair over her shoulder, "Dumbledore wanted more eyes on ze village after zat girl was attacked, and William wanted to see his siblings."

"So the Order knows about that."

"Zhere was an entire meeting about what 'appened to ze girl with all of ze members zat patrol Hogwarts and Hogsmeade," she explained.

It made sense in Harry's mind, they needed the extra support and wands in case something happened again. He had noticed the red robed Aurors patrolling the castle more often than they had done earlier in the year.

"Any other news from the Order?" Harry asked, paying Rosmerta who had come by to clean the table.

"Good news for once," she said with a smile as they stepped out and left the establishment, immediately catching Harry's attention, "ze Werewolves 'ave not sided wiz Voldemort."

"They're fighting against him?" Harry asked surprised but hopeful.

"Non, meester Snape and Dumbledore said zat zey 'ave chosen not to fight. Zey are split over ze war and do not trust Voldemort or ze British Ministry," she answered.

"I don't entirely blame them," Harry spoke as Fleur cast a warming charm that slowly crept up his body, Harry didn't know why his head pretended it had been her hand for a moment, "they're on the losing side of the war either way. The Ministry is afraid and doesn't trust them, while Voldemort treats them like scum and will use them until they outlive their usefulness. People seem to forget that most of them once were witches and wizards like you and me," a touch of bitterness leaked into his voice.

"Zhere eez also bad news," Fleur's voice whispered not wanting to be overheard outside, "ze Giants 'ave sided with Voldemort."

"Well… you can't win them all," Harry chuckled darkly, as that was all he could do. After Hagrid's failed mission with Madam Maxine last year, and the Death Eaters opening communications with the clans, they all knew it was only a matter of time before it became official.

In an effort to take his mind off of the war, Harry enquired as to how her family back in France was doing. He also passed over a couple of letters for Gabrielle and an enchanted carved wooden snitch that flew around its owner when released, that he bought for the girl earlier that morning for Christmas. In that moment, Fleur lit up, her entire countenance changing and her pale blue eyes sparkled with adoration. She spoke of past Christmases at their home, her favorite gifts, traditions, and memories; he had never seen her so talkative before. As she babbled onwards, her eyes off reliving the moments she was describing in detail, Harry simply stared at the woman beside him.

She was a wonder to behold, especially in this weather that heralded the comings of winter. Snowflakes nearly blended in with the silver of her hair, some catching on her long lashes, while others melted from the heat that radiated from her pale skin. She didn't look nearly as tired as she did the last time they spoke, but he could see that much of her underlying stress still remained. However, despite this, he found that these imperfections only added to her beauty. He wondered if Bill saw all of this when he looked at his fiancée.

He had long last track of what she was saying, his mind elsewhere, but when he opened his mouth to ask her a question, his speech was cut off by a piercing scream.

He moved on instinct, his wand out as he raced through the streets of Hogsmeade in the direction of the sound, Fleur right beside him matching step for step. There was no second guessing what he heard, he knew something had gone wrong in the worst way possible. It wasn't a scream of playful fright, one lined with laughter, or the scream a child would make when scared by an older sibling; it was a scream of abject terror. It curdled his blood, chilled his bones, and reminded him of the torturous night in the graveyard.

The weather had turned as if sensing the change in mood. The light hearted beauty of the day had transformed into an unforgiving harshness. The wind whipped through the air, biting at the surface of his skin; the snow once soft and fluffy now stung at his eyes. His scarf had blown away halfway down the path to the castle, but Harry had hardly noticed. It took him a moment to come to the realization that the constant shrieking in his ears did not come from the wind, but from voices at the crest of the hill in front of them.

His lungs were crying out for relief in response to the distance he had ran, and whatever air remained in them exited his body at what he saw at the center of a crowd of students. Floating some fifteen feet in the air, with her arms spread wide in the shape of a cross was Katie Bell. It was nightmarish; her skin almost as translucent as a ghost, her mouth wide open in a silent scream, as she stood suspended in the air like a marionette.

A gaggle of third year girls were weeping, huddled together, refusing to look at the disturbing scene in front of them. Dennis Creevey and his friends stood stock still, eyes wide open, not knowing what to do. In the center of them all was Megan on her knees beside a discarded piece of cloth, wailing and crying out for someone to help Katie.

Fleur saw it before he did, the ornate opal necklace that was partially wrapped by the cloth by Megan's knee. She shot a purple spell at it, one he did not recognize, and Katie came plummeting to the ground below, severing the invisible strings that held her up.

Immediately, Megan began crawling to her friend, but Harry reacted this time by putting up a shield between the two and freezing Megan in place. He was unsure what affect the necklace had on Katie, but he couldn't risk whatever it was possessing Megan as well. Katie lay still as a corpse, and Harry would have mistaken her for one if not for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

"Move!" Fleur shouted, and the crowd listened. "Do not touch ze necklace!" she added, although that seemed like the last thing anyone wanted to do.

Carefully with her wand, she extracted the cursed necklace and laid it on the earth. She began casting simultaneously between Katie and the necklace, muttering undistinguishable words underneath her breath, her tongue poking out of her mouth in a face of utmost concentration. It was amazing to watch the way she worked, carving runes and various symbols in the earth around the necklace, doing something he did not even know where to begin to understand.

"'Arry," she called his name in between incantations, "reach into my robes, and pull out ze silver knife in my leather pouch."

Not wanting to question her orders when her mind was entirely focused on her work, Harry nodded in acceptance. Reaching his hand down the front pocket of her robes, Harry could feel her slender legs through the soft material. His hand fumbled inside, causing his face to grow hot, before finally he felt a layer of leather at his fingertips.

Unravelling the pouch, he was met with the sight of a host of metal instruments, none of which he knew what to do with. It was under a flap at the end, that he found the silver knife she had requested.

Fleur grabbed it without a word and sliced open Katie's palm, dragging the blade through the scarlet liquid pooling in her hand, coating its outside. Megan opened her mouth in protest, but no sound came out in her frozen state. Fleur let the blood drip slowly onto the surface of the opal necklace, each drop hissing angrily upon touching the jewelry. There was a black smoke and a stink of rotten flesh that filled the air after the tenth drop, "Zhat eez not good," Harry could see the panic in Fleur's eyes and the trembling of her delicate hands as she quickly wiped the blade clean before putting it away.

Tapping her finger against her lips repeatedly, Harry could virtually see her mind whirling around in search of an answer to the problem at hand. He could slowly see a look of remorse leak into her visage with each passing second.

"What's going on here!" a loud voice came from behind the crowd, a head of red hair peaked over the top. "What in Merlin's saggy left-" Bill was brought up short at the sight in front of him. Harry would have laughed after finally finding out where Ron had learnt his favorite phrase, but now was definitely not the right time.

"Ze necklace, eet was cursed," Fleur spoke from where she had been working, her voice taking on a professional quality. "Eet is Romanian een origin I believe, attacks ze nervous system and withers with time," she listed what Harry assumed to be the effects of the curse. "She eez dying slowly. You are more qualified zhan I am, I did what I could," Fleur stepped to the side, giving Bill room to approach the body.

Pulling a silk scarf out of his pocket, Bill gingerly wrapped the necklace and placed it in his pocket. With his wand, he gently levitated Katie into the air, "Everyone back to the castle!" he ordered before leading them on at a brisk pace.

Releasing Megan from his spell, she scrambled to her feet and chased after her friend, not looking back once.

There was a quiet to the air after the storm of chaos had passed. The only sound came from the distant crunching footsteps of Bill and the crowd moving to Hogwarts, and Fleur's soft breaths. Harry leaned over to help pack up the leather pouch Fleur carried, as she wiped the ground clear of her carvings.

"Eet eez a basic Curse-Breakers tool kit," she supplied when she returned it to her pocket, "most Gringotts employees carry one at all times."

"And they want to keep you behind a desk and away from proper field work?" Harry stated with admiration.

Fleur gave him a soft smile and a small blush, "Zhank you 'Arry, but I did not do much. I did not heal 'er," he could hear the disappointment in her voice directed at herself.

"You did something when nobody else could," he stated, not allowing her to reject his praise, "That means something, Fleur, you were amazing… you probably just saved Katie's life," he could see how genuinely touched she was by his words, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes.

She took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of them, their eyes not daring to look away from one another. It was as if a magnet was drawing the two of them together, their body's leaning in without conscious thought. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his face, the sweet scent of lavender filling his nose just as she hesitated. The space between them was minuscule, as time seemed to stretch on forever, before she closed the distance and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips refused to leave his skin as if they were frozen in place, until finally she peeled them away, the warmth lingering long after it ended.

She turned her head away from his, breaking eye contact, and Harry wished she hadn't. They moved up the path to Hogwarts in silence, no words being able to describe what continued to transpire between them. He wished it was so much simpler, that there was something they could say to each other, but it seemed that it wasn't meant to be.

It was when they rounded the Black Lake along the edge of the school, that Harry heard the scuffling of running footsteps approach them from the side.

"Harry!" Ron's out of breath voice shouted, "Harry!" he called again, his robes flying behind him in the wind, and Hermione struggling to keep up with his long legged strides. "Did you hear what happened?"

"Hear?" there was a tired quality to his voice, "We were there."

"There?" it was Hermione that spoke up this time, looking perplexed, "We just came from there."

It was Harry's turn to frown. "What are you talking about?" Fleur spoke up, Hermione's eyebrows shot up not having noticed Fleur in their hasty approach.

"What is she doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Never mind that," Harry didn't have the time or patience for the squabbles of teenage girls, "what were you talking about?"

"Spiders, mate," Ron was pale as a ghost, " _spiders…_ " he repeated a second time. Ron really, really did not like the eight legged creatures.

"Spiders?" what did some small creature have to do with Ron and Hermione chasing after them.

"It's second year all over again," Ron tremored as he spoke, "it's Aragog's kids."

Harry's heart stopped. It wasn't some small spider that had Ron running for the hills, it was the goliath acromantula's that inhabited the Forbidden Forest. He had thought he had seen the last of the creepy-crawlies with a taste for human flesh when they had escaped Aragog's nest in the back of Arthur's rogue Ford Anglia, but he had encountered another one in the maze during the Third Task. He could feel the pulse in his leg where that particular Acromantula had bit him, phantom pains of the venom swirling in his bloodstream caused him to grimace.

"Where?" Harry asked, wondering if he had gone mad after doing so.

"By Hagrid's," Hermione replied.

Harry came to the conclusion that he had definitely gone barmy, there was no other explanation as to why he was willingly going out to confront the monstrous spiders.

"Wait, what happened?" Hermione's voice stopped his advance for a split second, clearly referring to what he and Fleur had witnessed.

"Katie's been cursed," Harry felt sick at the words, "it's… really bad. Fleur will take you," he broke into a sprint after breaking the news, not caring if his friends heard him or not, or if they objected to what he was about to do next.

The grounds were empty, hinting that there had been an evacuation of sorts. Harry was forced to slow his pace as he travelled down the hill leading to Hagrid's just at the edge of the forest. Passing through the various gardens and pens containing some of the tamer creatures for Hagrid's class, Harry came across a series of enormous black masses curled up on their backs. Some were split in two, others were squashed to pieces, and the odd one even had a crossbow bolt embedded somewhere in its hairy body.

Harry could see the flashes of spell fire from the opposite end of Hagrid's home, but his attention was quickly directed to the handful of furry black dots charging at him. In the moment before the first spider struck, Harry debated with himself whether the glossy unblinking black eyes of the Acromantula were creepier than the sound of their pincers _clicking_ and _clacking_ together. As he ducked under the first spider's pounce, venom dripping onto the back of his neck, he decided that they were equally unnerving, but nothing compared to the half-formed syllables and words the magical spiders attempted to hiss out.

If there was one creature Harry wouldn't mind being exterminated from the world, this would be it. As much as Hagrid loved Aragog, he figured the world would be a better place without him and his kind; and Harry was more than ready to do his part in eliminating them here and now.

Harry's wand flashed upwards to the Acromantula that was currently overhead. As the deep red light of his spell crashed into its soft underbelly, it exploded into tiny bits of mush and gore, its eight legs shooting off in eight different directions.

He could hear the high-pitched screams of rage come from its remaining brothers and sisters, the air rumbling like thunder as they all stampeded towards him.

One of the more enraged spiders reared up on its back two legs, its pincers smacking together madly spraying its venom through the air like some slobbering old dog. Maybe it had shared an egg with the dead one, Harry thought. Seeing the opportunity to strike against this one, Harry tried a spell he had been itching to use for weeks now.

 _For enemies_ , it said in the Prince's hand writing. This was certainly a situation that applied to its description.

 _Sectumsempra_ , he shouted clearly in his mind, the holly wand in his hand tracing perfectly the wand movement required. From the tip of his wand shot what appeared to be a scarlet ribbon that slashed through its target like an invisible sword, spurting black blood from the gaping wound in the center of its body.

Harry's eyes widened at the effects of the spell. _Inherently dark_ indeed, Dumbledore was not exaggerating when referencing some of the spells in the old potions book. It was a good thing he had waited to test this spell out rather than use it on Crabbe and Goyle whenever they annoyed him during Defense class. It was an even better thing he hadn't used it on Snape like he had wanted to, seeing as how he had already attacked the man once in class, albeit doing so in self-defence.

The spider was dead, the spell was more than effective, and together that gave Harry more than enough reason to continue using it.

He picked off two more with this powerful new spell, before the Acromantula adapted having realised the threat it posed to them. They skirted around the perimeter of a twenty-foot area, just far enough that they had time to dodge the spell that was so affective against them, and just close enough that they could reach Harry in a matter of seconds.

It was a waiting game they played, as the spiders slowly surrounded him on all sides. There were five of them left now. It reminded him of something Muggle's called a Mexican standoff, but rather than guns, it was Harry with his wand and gigantic spiders with their pincers.

The _clicking_ and _clacking_ was deafening to Harry's ears at this point. A few of the spiders would dart forwards and backwards, forcing Harry to turn slowly in a circle in the effort to keep them all at bay. His heart was pounding within his chest so hard he was shocked it hadn't burst, while sweat dripped down his face and neck.

It was in the blink of an eye that they struck; one in front, and one directly behind him by the sound of things. It was choreographed, which was a scary thought, one sacrificing itself so that its kin would succeed, an ever scarier thought. Harry wasn't planning on going down easily.

He killed the first one as expected, the Prince's spell tearing right through it. A repeat of the same spell wouldn't work, the spider having gotten too close for him to react and its exact location unknown with his back turned to it. Instead, Harry resorted to a flexible variant of cursed fire he had read in the Dark Arts book Dumbledore had passed on to him. It wasn't a pleasant spell by any means, designed to melt the flesh off of a living body, but the situation called for it. It was usually targeted on humans, but he figured it would work similar enough on the giant spiders.

With an extravagant twirl, channeling the deep heat he felt within his body whenever he was around Fleur, a flash of fire scorched through the air and hit the Acromantula mere feet away from him. It screeched in unholy agony, disintegrating before his very eyes, but its previous momentum caused its charred remains to careen into his body. The force of it caused him to stumble, and he cursed as a searing pain burned into the side of his neck and face.

That one moment of distraction put him on the back foot, as the now three remaining Acromantula were charging him at once. Flashing the flame through the air, Harry manipulated the magic behind it and shaped it around his closest foe. A great ball of fire hovered in the air where the spider used to be, and when he collapsed it inwards, only speckles of black dust floated down, melting through the snow below.

He had taken too long with his impressive feet of magic, as when he turned around, he only had enough time to partially twist his body as one of the last two remaining creatures barreled into him with a force that rattled his teeth. He flew to the ground, the breath knocked out of him, just as a set of hairy legs climbed on top of him. The smell was horrendous, like a body that had been left to rot in a heap of trash during the heat of summer. How Hagrid thought having one of these as a pet was a good idea, was beyond him.

Its pincers snapped at his face and Harry just twisted his head out of the way in time, the displaced air of the near miss kissing his cheek. He much preferred Fleur's kiss to this last one.

A blow from his wand was enough to knock the creature on its back, far enough away for Harry to clamber to his feet. He immediately banished the smoking remains of the earlier corpse at the other spider still charging him. The smell of one burnt spider, burning the hair and flesh of another was too much to handle. Harry retched in his mouth, and spat it out with tears streaming down his eyes. He promised himself a long visit to the Prefect's bathroom after this, he was desperate enough that he didn't care if Myrtle showed up and spied on him again.

With the Acromantula now distracted by its burns, Harry blasted it like the first, leaving only a smear of pulp behind.

Turning his head, he spotted the last of the spiders crawling to its feet. As it did so, Harry noticed that he had thrown it back to the spot where he had incinerated one of the others, its flaky ashes lying underneath its now standing sibling. A flash of inspiration hit him that moment, a cruel bit, but one that would end the battle.

With a half-twirl and a downward flick of his wand, Harry transfigured the spiders' ashes into shards of glass, which he then promptly summoned upwards from underneath the remaining Acromantula. One second the spider looked ready to charge, the next it lay dead on the ground with more holes in it than a pin cushion, a shower of glass flying up in the sky twinkling like diamonds in the sunlight.

Harry bent over, his hands on his knees, to catch his breath. He spat out the remaining bile in his mouth, before scooping up a handful of snow and pressing it against the burns on his neck and face.

Walking around Hagrid's hut to where he saw spell fire earlier, Harry came across a dozen more corpses surrounding Dumbledore and Hagrid who had his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"…you have my deepest sympathies. How much longer do you think he has?" Harry caught a snippet of their conversation.

"It's hard ter say, he's not gettin' any better and his kids are gettin' kind o' funny," the half-giant spoke, gesturing to the carnage around them. Harry assumed they were speaking of Aragog.

"Yes, well the issue will need to resolve itself in time," Dumbledore spoke aloud, "Are you still able to travel to the colony?" he asked Hagrid.

"It's been so long, it's hard ter think we won't be tergether forever…" Harry thought he heard a sob escape Hagrid, "I can still travel ter the nest as long as Aragog's alive," Hagrid sounded heartbroken.

"Then let us hope he finds a second wind and surprises us all. Our world is one full of miracles," Dumbledore placed a consoling hand on his former students back. It looked comical with how Dumbledore's arm was stretched so high to reach the big man's shoulders, but it was still a heartwarming sight.

Hagrid gave a sorrowful nod, before trudging back to his hut where Fang sat on the front porch, somehow managing to have slept through the chaos that had just transpired.

"I see you managed to join in on some of the excitement, Harry," Dumbledore spoke as he turned around to greet Harry.

"I guess you could say that, it certainly hasn't been a boring day," he walked forward to stand next to his headmaster.

"When those few Acromantula managed to slip past me and Hagrid, I feared Minerva or Filius would need to act to protect the children. I am correct in assuming you managed to stop them?" It was a question that didn't need to be asked, but required an answer anyways.

"They won't be causing any problems," Harry replied, to which Dumbledore gave a grim smile.

"Very impressive, Harry, very impressive indeed," he spoke mostly to himself while stroking his beard. "I would recommend getting that burn looked at by Madam Pomfrey Harry, as impressive as scars sometimes look, I think you could do without another one," Dumbledore advised. Harry had thought it was simply a small burn on his side, but the pain that now radiated from half of his face suggested otherwise.

"I think Madam Pomfrey might be a bit busy at the moment," Harry suggested, a dark undertone to his voice.

"Ah, so you are aware of what happened to Miss Bell," there was a cold look to Dumbledore as he spoke.

"I was there when it happened. Fleur stabilized her long enough for Bill to take her back to school," Harry informed him, even though he was fairly sure Dumbledore already knew.

"I had hoped the extra Order presence in Hogsmeade would be simply precautionary, but I am glad my foresight proved effective in this case. I could not bear losing another student," there was a devastated look in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

"So Katie will survive?" Harry had hoped she would, but was never certain.

"Between Severus, Poppy, and William, I am sure things are well in hand for Miss Bell's eventual recovery," Dumbledore answered which brought a smile to Harry's face. "I would like it if you stepped forward for a moment Harry," Dumbledore requested, to which Harry complied.

"Now reach out and tell me what you feel," Dumbledore prompted.

Just as he did when learning apparition, Harry searched for the ripples of magic in the world around him. He felt the normal tide swirl around his back and sides, but directly in front of him was an impenetrable wall. There was no movement forwards or backwards through the barrier, almost as if it were made out of steel.

"There's a wall," he replied, "it's made of powerful magic... ancient. I don't see how anything could get through it."

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore congratulated, "what you are feeling are some of the protective wards that have surrounded Hogwarts for hundreds of years. They were created to keep unwanted things out."

"Then how did the Acromantula get in?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled having predicted the question, "Tell me what you feel here," Dumbledore pointed to a space twenty feet to their right.

Harry moved to the area, but this time where he expected to run into the magical barricade, it was gone. It hadn't been removed purposefully or with any precision, but rather it had been torn out in great chunks. "What happened?" Harry said shocked.

"To that, I can only guess. It is possible that some of the protections added to the castle at the beginning of the year could have reacted poorly with the older enchantments and caused this," Dumbledore hypothesized, but there was something in his voice that made it sound as if he did not believe his own words.

"Will it happen again?" Harry asked with trepidation.

"I certainly hope not," Dumbledore replied with an unnerved look in his eyes.

It was something Harry had never thought he would see, a moment where Dumbledore had no explanation for something that had gone wrong. A cold chill settled at the base of his spine at the implication of what that could possibly mean.

 **AN**

 **Hello again, I'm back with a very quick update! I was on a bit of a role following the last update, and found this chapter very easy to write.**

 **We begin to see the repercussions of Pansy's attack starting to take shape, and how the students within the school are reacting. Nobody really knows what is going on, so there's an added bit of chaos thrown into the mix along with the tension between houses. A couple of new characters that I only mentioned briefly beforehand are introduced, I hope you enjoyed Shafiq and Pucey.**

 **I decided against going into great detail on the memory of Ogden visiting the Gaunt. As amazing as JK Rowling did in writing that entire scene/sequence, I felt that it was one unnecessary in the flow and direction that I am taking the story. Still it is touched on briefly, for fairly obvious reasons.**

 **A little bit more focus on Daphne this chapter. Her time with Harry this chapter was not meant to go as long as it did, but I liked the way the characters were interacting and the flow of their conversation so it kind of grew from there.**

 **Fleur was brought back, as promised, and I hope you enjoyed her interaction with Harry. I felt that the slight awkwardness between them in a normal setting was only natural, given their past few interactions, which were fairly emotionally charged. She also has a bit of a badass moment, which is cool as well. However, I do want to address something at this point. I know a lot of you want to see a lot of Fleur, and how her and Harry's relationship develops, and I promise that you will. But this story is primarily focused on Harry's growth over time, both as a person and a wizard. It's his story, his journey, and focuses on how he will eventually take the fight to his enemies. Fleur plays an important role in Harry's story, and will continue to be one of the main characters, but the story is not primarily a romance (see the tags in the story description). Romance is a part of it, yes, and has its place, but it will grow naturally in the background.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed the action that unfolded at the end of the chapter, I had A LOT of fun writing that scene. I very much would like to here your thoughts on it!**

 **Reviews are always appreciated, they help me out, and are a great motivator to keep me writing. As always, if you have any questions, comments, or have found something I have hid into the text for a future plot point, let me know.**

 **Until next time.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: The first time I have ever put one up here. It's just here to warn any that are sensitive, that things get a little dark near the end. See more at the end.**

The glare of the sun was harsh in his face as he sat in his regular bed in the Hospital Wing. The unforgiving nature of the rising sun was only part of the reason why he had woken up at this early hour, the other being the pain radiating off of his most recent wound. He had debated rousing Madam Pomfrey from her slumber with the request of a pain potion and a bed shaded from the sunlight, but ultimately decided that a few more hours of solitary peace sounded more appealing.

The side of his face was stiff in a way that was entirely uncomfortable, and was almost worse than the pain itself. His hand twitched at his side, fighting the torturous urge to touch the evidence of his encounter with Aragog's rogue children. The paste Pomfrey had applied was now crusted over and much of it had flaked off, but still he was under the strict orders not to touch the bandages wrapped around much of his face and neck. The woman was a force to be reckoned with, and he was more than certain she would fulfill her threat of cutting off his hand if she caught him disobeying again.

The Hospital Wing had been a mad house when he finally stumbled in the evening past. Megan was clutching Katie's hand and looked as if she hadn't stopped sobbing since the incident itself; her hair dishevelled, eyes red and puffy, and tears splotching her pale skin. It was difficult seeing someone usually so full of life look so completely broken. Around them Fleur and Pomfrey were working away on Katie, casting spell after spell in languages he could not place in the attempt to stabilize the Gryffindor chaser. Bill circled the area inscribing runes on the floor surrounding the bed, as well as Katie's skin with a silvery substance he thought looked familiar. His belt of silver instruments was splayed across the counter, as he deftly picked his chosen tool without hesitation, the sharp ringing of notes sang with each strike of metal.

Snape was there as well, stooped over in the far corner of the room partially hidden by the shadows. Levitating in front of him was the opal necklace that had started it all. The man's lips were moving faster than he could track, forming what looked to be unintelligible mumbles, but was likely some foreign counter curse. As much as Harry despised the man, he had to concede that if anyone could uncover what curse was placed on the necklace it would be Snape. The man was a walking library of the Dark Arts, and never tried to hide his expansive knowledge.

Ron and Hermione stood off to the side with Professor McGonagall who looked on the verge of tears at the sight of one of her Gryffindor students being so seriously injured. But beyond the despair, there was a ferocity etched into the tight lines of her aged face, one that resembled the mighty sigil of her house. He had no doubt that if McGonagall caught the one responsible for this, they would be torn to shreds faster than they could say 'transfiguration'.

It wasn't until he had made it halfway to Katie's bed that his presence was finally noticed. It wasn't the shriek of his name that caught his attention, in the half dazed state he was in, but it was the sudden silence in the room. Megan's crying had stopped, Ron and Hermione's chatter with McGonagall had faded, and Pomfrey's barked orders were notably absent. Only Snape's muttering and Bill's metallic song continued without interruption.

His eyes immediately went to Fleur, something inside him instinctively knowing she was the one who saw him first and called out to him.

Her mouth hung open in an expression he would never have thought to see on her face in public. Sweat stuck her silvery hair to her forehead and the corners of her mouth in a manner that would have looked unpleasant on most girls, but only enhanced her beauty. Knowing Fleur, at any other time should would have been horrified at the state she was in. Despite that, Harry couldn't help the crooked smile that grew across his face and the warmth that filled him at the sight of her.

That was until blinding pain morphed his visage from one of admiration into one of agony. The skin on his face did not appreciate being stretched in its damaged condition.

Everything after that was a blur to him. He thought he remembered being rushed by a crowd of bodies before being thrown to the bed he was currently sitting on. His dazed mind could still feel Fleur's soft hands caressing his undamaged cheek, and him leaning into her gentle touch not caring who saw.

He liked to think that it indeed happened and his mind was not conjuring up false memories. The potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down his throat did a number on him, and Fleur's soothing touch could very well have been the simple brush of the pillow underneath his head.

Looking to his right, about six or seven beds down from his own, he saw the space Katie had previously occupied. The bed was still unmade, its white linen spilling onto the floor marking Katie's hasty exit when she had finally been stable enough to be transported to St. Mungo's.

Two students, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, both sent to St. Mungo's in critical condition in just over a month. Both of them had been attacked in some capacity, and nobody knew who was responsible. Where the two attacks related? Was this done in retaliation to what happened to Pansy? There were certainly enough people in Slytherin with the right connections to find a necklace like that and sneak it into Hogsmeade.

The world was going mad, and everything around him was falling into chaos. The castle was on the verge of an all-out civil war between houses, and once word of Katie spread far enough he was certain tensions would explode.

Hadn't he told Shafiq and Pucey to keep their house under control until he found out what happened to Pansy?

Harry felt a familiar sense of agitation gnawing away at his insides. It was a feeling he had started to experience more and more as the year carried on. The feeling of him sitting around and being absolutely useless in the grand scheme of things.

He tried to combat the sensation by practicing whenever possible between his school lessons and those with Dumbledore, but it was never enough. No amount of research in the library, or tomes and words of wisdom gifted to him by Dumbledore were enough to satisfy him. The feeling swelled as news of attacks and disappearances trickled in from the Daily Prophet each passing day, and with his lack of success in finding any answers in regards to Pansy.

He wanted to do something, but instead he was stuck in Hogwarts, in the Hospital Wing, on a bed, and under the orders of remaining so until cleared.

Before he could continue brooding in his mind, Harry's attention was caught by the sound of a pair of footsteps and voices approaching the entrance to the infirmary.

"-initely still asleep. I'm telling you, we should go grab breakfast first and then come back," a familiar voice reached his ears as they passed through the door.

Leaning back over the edge of the bed Harry tried to spot who had entered, but the way the curtains were arranged around him prevented that.

"Just go check, you should be used to being up and working early by now," a new voice spoke this time.

He wasn't sure whether it was sleep, the potions, or pain, but whatever it was it seemed to be still affecting him, as he couldn't put any faces to the voices he was hearing.

"Ha! I told you she was still sleeping!" the first voice called out triumphantly at a further distance from the second one. "I'm never expected this early in the morning. You owe me breakfast and a few extra hours of beauty sleep now."

"Suck it up, you'll be working harder hours at St. Mungo's eventually. Think of this as training, I'm sure Pomfrey will be impressed," the first voice replied in an attempt to be stern, but the laugh in the middle ruined its affect. They were right outside his curtains now.

Not a moment later, he heard the metal rings of the curtain screech as they were pulled apart in front of him, allowing what sunlight had been blocked out before to blind him.

"Merlin, you look like a mess." Whoever it was, was obviously talking to him now.

Harry's only response was a groan of pain, as he lifted his glasses and tried to rub the harsh light out of his eyes.

"Daphne…?"

After his eyes had adapted to his surroundings, the first thing he saw was the blue eyes of the girl in front of him, the rest of her practically glowed in the backlight of the sun. He had thought it was Fleur originally. The differences emerged quickly after, most notably her lustrous black hair, green trimmed robes, and the deep sapphire of her eyes rather than the pale blue he had expected.

"You sound surprised?" her hands folded across her skirt as she sat at the foot of his bed.

"I… just wasn't expecting you to be the first to come see me," he answered honestly. He would have expected Ron and Hermione to be here before anyone.

"Oh," there was a queer look on her face, "well, Weasley and Granger are busy right now," she replied, knowing what he had been thinking.

"Busy? Doing what?"

"Don't look so offended, I'm sure they'll come see their favorite Chosen One as soon as they can," she teased, patting his leg in a mocking manner.

"I really wish you would stop calling me that."

"I get amusement out of it," she said simply pretending as if that was all the explanation she needed.

"Yeah, well, I don't."

There was something in his tone that made Daphne hesitate for a moment, something that made her realize just how much he detested the term. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, where she shifted closer to him and placed her hand on his knee.

"Listen, I'll s-"

Before Daphne could continue, she was cut off by the sound of Madam Pomfrey shuffling towards his bed.

"Alright Mr. Potter, let me take a look. I swear if you touched those bandages overnight I won't hesitate to follow through on my threat," she called out as she rounded the entrance of his curtains, before spelling them to disappear.

Leaning forward, she gently prodded and inspected her handiwork, as Tracey peeked in from behind to see what her mentor was doing. Harry made sure to sit on his hands, just in case Pomfrey got any ideas.

"Hmm fine," she hummed to herself, "it appears you actually followed my instructions… for once. Now, the bandages will be removed and then we will wash off the remains of the burn salve," a pained look crossed the matron's face for a moment before continuing in a softer voice than before, "I am not entirely sure how well the scarring will have healed. The nature of the magic that caused the wound and the time it had to settle between contact and treatment…" she trailed off, the unspoken words clear enough to all.

"It's fine Madam Pomfrey, you did all you could and more. I was the second most important patient in the room," he replied, to which she gave him a tired and sad smile.

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't care if the burn left a scar. Ideally, the burn would be completely healed and the only evidence of his encounter with the Acromantula would be in his memory. However, that did not seem likely at the moment. He just hoped he wouldn't be coming out this looking like Mad-Eye.

He remembered one night at Grimmauld Place last year, where he had spent the evening with Sirius and Tonks. The two of them had gotten a little too far into their drinks and were trading stories of their experiences with Moody; Tonks during her training, and Sirius during the first war. Sirius had just finished a set of stories on different scars Mad-Eye had collected, when Tonks called the man a 'walking fetish'. Apparently there was a small group of DMLE recruits who took the idea of 'chicks digging scars' to the extreme, and tried their outright best to seduce the veteran Auror. The three of them were rolling on the floor howling in laughter for an hour after that.

"Miss Greengrass, I am going to have to ask you to leave," if Madam Pomfrey was shocked to find Daphne here with him, she did not show it.

Tracey gave her friend a semi-apologetic shrug.

If her movement was anything to go by, Daphne was reluctant to comply with the order. Taking her time, she delicately unfolded her legs before slowly moving to get up from her position on the bed.

"No, you don't have to," Harry put out his hand, halting her movement, "she can stay," he added, looking at Daphne as he spoke.

She looked back at him without saying a word, before giving him a small smile and reclaiming her spot beside him.

"Mr. Potter…" Pomfrey let out a heavy sigh, catching his attention. "Are you sure? What lies beneath these bandages might not be entirely pleasant."

He understood what Madam Pomfrey was getting at, but it mattered little to him. Whether Daphne was here with him or not, she would eventually see, as would the rest of the world. He wasn't one to hide beneath a glamour. They failed to work well on cursed scars to begin with.

A nod was enough to satisfy her concerns.

"Well, I have worked around your crowd of Gryffindors before, I'm certain I can work around a single Slytherin. You may remain Miss Greengrass," Pomfrey conceded as she approached Harry's side.

Together with the help of Tracey, Madam Pomfrey gently cut away his dressings, the silky ribbons pooling in midair as they unravelled from his head. Once they were all removed, the soiled bandages were placed in a metal bowl and burned to ash, before being vanished.

"Your skin will be tender for the next two to three days, but afterwards you will hardly notice the difference between what is old and what is newly grown," Pomfrey explained as she reached out and grabbed what looked to be a large golden bucket from her student. "I had the solution laced with a soothing potion, and the sponge is enchanted to give a numbing sensation, but I am afraid that is all I can do. Even with your high tolerance for pain… I apologize."

Without any further warning, Pomfrey reached into the bucket and soaked her sponge in a foaming blue liquid that smelt of mint and burning tinder and began to work away on his face.

A fist full of bedding was all he could do to keep control of his discomfort. His teeth were clenched and grinding against one another with each pull of the sponge, soft groans threatening to spill out of his throat. Muttered apologies came from Madam Pomfrey, but they did little to stop her work.

It felt like an hour had passed before she finished, only the feeling of a cool cloth dabbing at his skin prompted Harry to open his eyes. They were blurry from the pain, but not so much that it obscured his vision from Pomfrey's reaction. Trepidation filled his stomach at the look of regret on the matron's face, the unwelcome feeling crawling upon its lining like spiders. However, before despair could fully settle in, he thought he caught a glimpse of relief in the woman's eyes.

Turning his head quickly, Harry's eyes bore into Tracey, who had been caught up in her staring. Her cheeks flushed from the intensity of his gaze before diverting her eyes to the floor and giving him what was probably her best attempt at a reassuring smile.

"Come Tracey, we will have to log this into Mr. Potter's files. It's about time I show you how I keep records of student visits and treatments. St. Mungo's uses a very similar system, and one you should grow familiar with," Pomfrey gently led the brunette away from his bed, but not before calling over her shoulder, "Oh, and Mr. Potter, you will remain in that bed until I give you permission to leave."

Harry could practically hear the teasing smile to her words. He let out a frustrated groan, not wanting to spend any more time in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps he could sneak out, it wouldn't be the first time he had done so. All he would need was his invisibility cloak, which was currently folded in the pocket of his thick outer robes on the chair next to him. Once again he found himself thankful to the fact that he had gotten into the habit of taking the cloak everywhere.

His plan was set, and all he needed to do was quietly slip out of his bed… until he looked up and was met with the sight of Daphne silently examining him from her spot next to his feet.

Harry coughed awkwardly, having been caught halfway through the process of disentangling his upper body from the sheets. How had he forgotten she was there? He blamed the potions.

"Maybe I was just hearing things, but I'm pretty sure Madam Pomfrey told you not to move," there was a smirk to her lips.

Harry could feel heat building up in his cheeks, but he wasn't entirely sure whether it was because of getting caught or if it was the way Daphne was looking at him. There was a sharp intensity to her, one that could easily be mistaken for coldness given her perfect posture and the way her arms and legs were crossed over each other, but the only thing he felt from her was warmth. He could see the worry in the tightness around her eyes, and her nervousness by the way she played with a loose thread on her skirt.

After a moment, Harry wasn't sure how long it had been, Daphne quickly averted her eyes from him. A pang of hurt tore through him, one unlike the physical pain of his injury.

"Am I really that hard to look at?" Harry forced as much false confidence as he could into his speech. It was difficult to tell how well he pulled it off, but beneath it all was a terror that his malformed face had forced her to look away.

Daphne's face whipped around in response to his words, her blue eyes open wide. If not for the seriousness of the situation, Harry would have found it comical how similar they looked to those of a house elf.

"No," she said, so quickly the words barely registered in his mind. A touch of fear subsided from within him at her words. "No, you look the same as ever… only with a little more color to one side of your face," there was a hesitance in her response, but not one that indicated she was lying.

Fumbling around on the nightstand, Harry eventually found his wand and quickly conjured a simple looking mirror. With his hand grasped around the handle, he found that he couldn't lift it. It felt like there was an anchor tied to his wrist, staying his hand from further movement. Sweat trickled down his fingers onto the mirror where they ran like tears down the glass.

It was only when cool pale fingers steadied his wrist, that he realized his hand had been trembling.

Was he being unreasonable in his fear? He found that hard to believe; not when he did not know what he would find staring back at him.

He closed his eyes.

Why did he care so much? Why could he not bare to look at his own reflection? He had numerous scars across his body, why was this one so different?

It was a simple answer, because it was his image.

He feared what others would see, not because he was vain, but how it would define him. For so long, who he was depended on his appearance. In Little Whinging, he was the juvenile delinquent in oversized castoffs who was forced upon the poor Dursley family. In the Wizarding World, he was the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One, marked with his famous lightning bolt scar. To his professors and many others, he was James and Lily's son, who looks so much like his father but with his mother's eyes.

Did no one see him for who he truly was? Was he not his own person beyond his outward appearance?

"You're still Harry, there's nothing to be afraid of," Daphne whispered, as together she helped Harry lift the mirror, giving him a strength he did not know he had.

Perhaps there were a few that knew Harry Potter. The ones that saw beyond what his eyes and hair represented or the clothing he wore and the few scars he bore. In truth, they were the only ones that really mattered. Each scar told its own story, but they knew that the truth of the whole was greater than the sum of its parts.

A determination settled within Harry in that moment. He had grown to ignore the looks he received at his forehead, he could do the same for the newest addition to his collection. If it turned out to be a horrible mangled mess akin to Moody, then maybe he would find just a few less girls stalking him through the hallway.

Opening his eyes, he was met with a face he had grown used to seeing each morning as far as he could remember. One that was bespectacled, with a narrow nose and sharp features. It was the face of Harry Potter, and that was all that mattered.

"You fit the role of the Chosen One better now," he could hear the slight bit of humour in Daphne's voice.

What she said was true. Beyond his features and the stubble that had started growing on his face the past couple of years, lay what Daphne had been referring to. Creeping in around the base of his neck was a crisscrossed patch of skin a good few shades darker than his normal pallor. The burn snaked up his left side along his jaw before reaching a pointed tip at the corner of his mouth. It looked like scar that belonged on a famed warrior in history, one who fought fearlessly and triumphed over evil.

It was almost leathery to the touch, but he refrained from pressing too hard as Pomfrey was correct when she said it would be tender. Tracing up the left side of his face, he was amazed at the work she had done. He remembered the searing pain of the burning Acromantula corpse pressing into his face and neck, but looking at himself now he could hardly tell it happened the way it did in his memories.

Pale unblemished skin stood in the place where previously Harry was certain were extreme burns infected with the malignant magic of the curse he had used and contaminated with the Acromantula's corrupt essence. The skin of his cheek was indistinguishable to the rest of him. Only the burn stretching from neck to jaw, and another that ran thinly over his eyebrow and temple before disappearing behind the top of his ear gave away his injury.

"You sure you still want me to take you to Slughorn's party?" Harry jested, smiling now that he knew the damage was much less than what he had expected.

"And miss the chance of sneaking a word with everyone who is going to come up and ask what happened to the 'great Harry Potter?' Not a chance."

Harry laughed at that, having figured that would be her response.

"So… the entire school knows I've been hurt?" Harry asked figuring the word must have spread by now, which was why Daphne was here.

"Very few people actually do," Daphne replied surprising him, "I don't know if you noticed, but the school was put into lockdown. Everyone was rounded up into their dorms without explanation, with only prefects and professors roaming the halls looking for any stray students."

Harry nodded along with Daphne's explanation. It made sense in hindsight, he remembered how empty the Hogwarts grounds were when he ran over to Hagrid's.

"It was chaos," Daphne shook her head at the memory, "so much panic and nobody knew what was going on. People thought we were under attack and that the Dark Lord was coming. Half of Slytherin was terrified, while the other half could barely contain their excitement when they should have been terrified."

"That's ridiculous," Harry broke in, "Voldemort would never openly attack Hogwarts with Dumbledore still here," he noticed how Daphne cringed slightly at his name.

"Anyone with half a brain realizes and knows that the Dark Lord would never openly assault Hogwarts, especially with the added Auror presence right now. But most people were too scared to think straight. They only calmed down when we were told that some of Hagrid's creatures for class escaped and we needed to stay inside while they were all rounded up."

Harry scoffed at that, recognizing the nugget of truth in the lie told by the professors. In a weird sort of way, they were Hagrid's creatures. The Acromantula's would be considered his grand-pets if you wanted to get technical about it.

"I didn't realize Acromantula were such a funny matter?" Daphne raised an eyebrow at him, obviously not impressed with his reaction to what scarred his face.

"How do you know it was Acromantula?" Harry countered out of his own curiosity, and to deflect her comment.

"The same way I knew that you were in here, when the only ones who know are the Headmaster and everyone else who was in here when you first came," she shot back.

"Word hasn't spread?"

"There's no way it could have. Dinner was served in our common rooms last night, and we were only released this morning. The news on Bell only started to make its way through the halls when the students who witnessed it were finished being questioned by their Head of Houses and sent back to their dorms this morning."

"Merlin, it's going to get messy," Harry rubbed at his face in frustration, instantly regretting it as he flinched from pressing too hard on his scar tissue.

"For you, most likely," Daphne answered simply. "I stay away from those sort of things."

A creaking of the wooden door to the Hospital Wing stopped their conversation from continuing. He could faintly hear muffled voices from Pomfrey's office.

"Arry?"

Harry knew that voice. It was someone he had hoped would come, but did not dare believe they would. He could hear their footsteps, and his chest seemed to tighten each second they grew nearer.

"Arry?" the pitch of her voice shot up in surprise when she noticed Daphne at the end of his bed. She paused there, approaching from the right, conflicted over wanting to come closer and not rudely interrupting an ongoing conversation.

"I think it's about time I grab myself some breakfast," Daphne stated, flattening the wrinkles in her skirt as she stood. "Be sure to look smart for the party, black dress robes will suit you fine, anything else is too outlandish for you in my opinion. I'll owl you when to pick me up," Daphne listed off as she departed without sparing Fleur a single look.

Silence hung in the air, as Harry and Fleur stared at one another, the only sound coming from the door closing behind Daphne's exit and the low rumble of speech from portraits of matron's past. She stood there, much more put together than when he last saw her, but equally as beautiful. Her long silvery hair hung freely down her back, and the scent of lavender replaced that of the sterile infirmary.

It was Harry that decided to speak first, "I didn't think you would come."

"Dumbledore offered us a room after William and I stated our desire to remain be'ind," she explained as she approached him. There was a sudden pause in her confident stride as she walked to his front, Harry could guess what brought her up short. "Why eez it zat I am always visiting you like zis?"

"Because I'm not the greatest listener?" Harry tried for a bit of humour. It didn't work particularly well, as Fleur did not smile, but her eyes did soften taking in his face.

"No, you are not," she shook her head, thinking back to the words they shared at Kings Cross. "Why?" she added.

"I did it because I had to," Harry answered, knowing what she was implying.

"Zat eez not true. You did eet because you could."

"Who else was going to do it," Harry replied hotly.

"You are not ze only competent person 'Arry," she pointed out much to Harry's growing irritation. "Do you enjoy doing zis? Do you enjoy worrying ze ones zat care about you?" her accent thickening as she gestured to his burns.

"So what if I do!?" Harry snapped, his head pounded with pent up frustration, "What if I like chasing after danger, when I'm stuck in here doing nothing? So what if I crave the thrill of fighting when the stakes are highest? At least I'm doing something. Taking action makes me _feel_ alive."

"I would rather you _be_ alive." He could practically feel the heat behind her words.

"Odds are by the end of this I won't be," his countenance darkened. "How am I supposed to stop Voldemort if I can't take on a pack of overgrown spiders."

"You do not 'ave to do everyzing all by yourself!"

"Sometimes you don't have a choice…" his voice was small, barely a whisper.

Fleur's heavy breathing from their heated exchange drew Harry's eyes down to her heaving chest, which was pressed tightly against the robes she was wearing. He found it difficult to look away, his body not responding to his mind while it ran hot with the passion left over from their brief argument. Looking up eventually, he hadn't realized how close they had gotten. He could see an almost undecipherable frown building on her forehead.

Harry was cut off guard by the hand that cupped his face, "These scars, zey show zat you are brave…" she spoke quietly. He braced for a flash of pain, but it never came. Instead, there was a soothing feel that accompanied Fleur's touch upon his damaged skin. Like skates on ice, her fingers danced delicately across the patches of ugliness. Unashamedly he lent in to her touch, sparks of a similar memory half-forgotten played in his mind.

"I think the red of my robes does a good enough job of that," Harry laughed, earning a genuine smile from Fleur.

"Zey are not 'andsome," she breathed out while tracing the thin burn along his temple.

"Burn victims never are," he received a light smack for that.

"You wear zem well, not many could," her hand moved up to try and brush down some of his bed head to no avail. "Zey make you look more like 'Arry."

"More like myself?"

"Oui, but not so much in appearance, as in spirit. Like ze _leetle boy_ who can't help but find 'imself in trouble no matter what 'e does," her tone was teasing with the emphasis of 'leetle boy', but the look in her eyes was entirely different.

"Am I really so _leetle_ ," he mimicked her accent, "if I'm taller than you."

"You are not so tall from up here," she laughed looking down at him on the bed.

"Really?" Harry looked up with a smirk, one that confused Fleur. Like reaching for the snitch, Harry snatched Fleur's wrist before she could so much as blink, and pulled her down to his level. With a high pitched yelp, she tumbled onto his chest in a pile of giggles, her hair spilling all over his face.

The two of them were shaking with laughter, until Harry noticed Fleur had stilled. Parting the curtain of silver, Harry saw that Fleur's eyes were focused on something down the room.

"You saved her life you know," Harry said as he joined Fleur in looking at the empty, unmade bed of Katie.

"I did not d-"

"You did." Harry interrupted. "I saw how bad it was," his mind flashed with images of Katie hanging in the air, "Bill wouldn't have made it in time if you hadn't done something. You're the reason she has any chance of surviving," he reached to touch her shoulder half-expecting her to move away, but she didn't.

"Zhank you," she turned to look him in the eye, her hand moving to rest upon his own. "Arry, you are…" she stopped, "unlike anyone I 'ave ever met."

He wasn't sure if that was what she had originally meant to say, but he could sense the truth behind her words regardless.

Rolling off of her front, her back lay across Harry's legs on the bed as she stared up to the ceiling.

"Zey do not trust me."

That took Harry aback, "Don't trust you, why wouldn't the Order trust you?"

Fleur paused for a moment, as if catching the meaning of her words, "Per'aps trust is not ze best choice of words. They do not theenk of me so highly."

He could hear the frustration in her voice, and a familiar anger began to pool within him. "That's ridiculous, you were a Triwizard Champion, something only fou- three people alive can claim," he corrected himself with a grimace. "And I'm sure your achievements stretch beyond that."

"Not all of zem see it as you do, 'Arry. To many, I am seemply a foreign girl who does not know what she 'as gotten involved with," she sat up from her position.

"What about Bill?" His question was leading.

"William does what he can. He stands up for me as an equal, but realizes zat I am not some child who needs to be spoken for. Eet is not William's fault," she finished sharply.

Harry almost flinched at the directness of her tone. He chided himself internally at taking such liberties when discussing her fiancée. Of course Fleur would defend the man she was to marry, even if he personally tended to forget that fact at times. Harry tried to push away some of the shame and bitterness he felt over his actions.

"Je m'excuse 'Arry, I should not 'ave snapped at you," she apologized. "Eet is difficult for me when my talent eez not recognized," she sat there silently before laughing humorlessly. "This morning, William went wiz Snape to examine ze cursed necklace. I was told my 'elp was not necessary. Zat is exactly ze work I am here to do, non?" Each word dripped with irritation and resentment.

"The goblins have you working with magical artifacts now?" Harry asked curiously. The last time they had spoken on this she had told him that the goblins were keeping her busy behind a desk with paperwork. If they had finally stopped mistreating her, and were valuing her work, that could only be a good thing for Fleur and he was happy for her.

"Zat is not…" Fleur stopped midsentence, causing Harry to frown in concern at her apparent hesitance to speak further, "I did not mean it like zat," she corrected quickly, "It eez ze work zat I wanted to do, but the Goblins had ozzer ideas."

Harry's excitement for her quickly faded, it appeared that nothing had changed. However, something that she said had caught his attention. "Wait, I don't see h-"

Before Harry could voice his concern, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened once again, interrupting their discussion.

"Fleur? Harry?" Bill Weasley's voice called out as the sound of his boots on the tile floor of the infirmary announced his approach.

A handsome smile spread across his face, as the red head spotted his alluring French bride. He leaned over the bed and planted a long lingering kiss on Fleur's lips.

Harry looked away, but the sound coming from directly in front of him was enough for him to fist his blankets.

"Harry," hearing his name, Harry looked up into the freshly flushed face of the eldest Weasley. His blue eyes were dancing with an odd mix of emotions that included relief, concern, and pity. "You're looking like every witches dream now," he grinned jovially, "I've hung out with enough fellow Curse Breakers to know that a few scars can help a man go a long way."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at Bill's friendliness as he gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

"I heard you had a date with Snape."

"If it was, then it was probably the worst date I have ever been on. I kept on expecting him to start taking points off me with everything I tried. It felt more like a detention then a cooperative investigation."

"I've had my fair share of those this year," Harry commented dryly. So far his sixth year had contained almost a never ending stream of detentions from the sallow faced man.

"What for?" Bill questioned, looking intrigued at the prospect of an interesting story. It was obvious from his reaction that Bill had enjoyed his time at Hogwarts, and like most, loved to exchange tales of adventures, misadventures, and the like.

"Honestly? Just for being me," Harry answered, much to Bill's disappointment at missing out on the usual craziness that accompanied Harry Potter's life.

"Zat eez entirely immature," Fleur cut in.

"That's just Snape for you, Ron has told me as such over the years," Bill replied looking back to Harry.

"Speaking of Ron," Harry steered the conversation in the direction of something he had been wondering, "do you know where Ron and Hermione are?"

Upon hearing the question, Bill's hand shot up to his dragon tooth earing and began twisting it between his fingers. "About that… I don't want to worry you, given your current condition. But from what I could gather from Snape, McGonagall broke the news about Katie Bell to the entirety of Gryffindor house this morning and the reaction was not… pleasant."

Harry's stomach dropped, "What do you mean?" his question came out more firm than he had intended it to.

"McGonagall was apparently forced to lockdown the common room. All Gryffindor students are to be confined to the tower until tempers cool, and she is confident that there won't be any unnecessary violence once they are back out in the halls," there was a pained grimace on his face. "The good news is that you don't have class today, but the bad news is that you're the only lion out in the open."

Harry didn't laugh this time at Bill's attempt at humour, his mind too preoccupied with trying to process what he had just been told. He was somewhat relieved that the professors had taken action in preventing all-out war from breaking out, but saddened that it was necessary. His mind kept on flashing back to what Shafiq, Pucey, and Daphne had told him about their suspicions of who attacked Pansy. If someone he knew, possibly a Gryffindor, had done that to Pansy, what would they do now? The stakes had been raised, and it appeared that nobody was going down without a fight.

"Harry?" the sound of Bill's voice brought him out of his thoughts, "We're going to head out now," he pointed between himself and Fleur, who had now risen from the bed, "we start work soon, and the goblins don't take kindly to those who are late."

It wasn't long after the couple had departed that Madam Pomfrey returned for her final checkup. It consisted of a few diagnostic spells, a horrid tasting vial of pain relief potion, and a warning of the drastic measures she would have to take if he returned to her with anything worse than the flu.

With one final declaration of her exasperation with his frequent visits and a giggle from Tracey, Harry was promptly booted out into the empty hallway. Before he could put any thought into where he would go next, the dragon-like growl his stomach gave off decided for him.

The lack of Gryffindors was clear as day, with robes of green, yellow, and blue being the only ones he glimpsed. It appeared that the students were making the most of their unexpected day off from classes as they lazily sauntered through the hallways without their bags, some not even caring to dress in their uniforms. Harry figured that upon hearing the news, many went back to their dorms to catch an extra bit of sleep or were taking advantage of their prolonged breakfast.

Whispers were all around him, both of shock and speculation at the cause of the burns on his face. The voices of students and portraits alike exchanged their newest bit of juicy gossip, feasting on it like a thirsty vampire would its prey. From his peripheral he could see the gaping mouths and pointed fingers of the less discrete, yet no one was brave or bold enough to directly speak to him.

He knew it was coming and made no move to hide. He had come to terms with what others would see. Instead, a wry smirk built at the corner where the burn met his lip and without breaking stride he walked with his head held high through the doors of the Great Hall.

Three of the tables were mostly filled by the students of their respective houses. He was paid little mind upon his entrance, as the children were busy conversing amongst themselves. It was not the usual open chatter that filled the hall, but one that was more closed off, groups of students of all ages were huddled together with their heads down.

It was only as he approached the vacant Gryffindor table that the voices around the room slowly vanished with each step he took. A strange silence fell over the hall with its occupants taking notice of him, he was unsure whether it was the color of his robes or the marks on his face that was the cause of this.

Upon taking a seat at the edge of the long table, a single plate and goblet popped into existence in front of him along with utensils and select breakfast dishes. It was clear that the elves had not anticipated any Gryffindors coming down this morning. Not for the first time since entering the room, Harry found himself wondering why he did not go the kitchens instead.

The buzz of conversation returned with a new level of intensity that was not present upon his arrival, and even a troll could tell what the cause of this was. Ignoring everything around him, Harry focused solely on filling his stomach.

Looking down the table to his right, Harry noticed that they weren't as empty as he had initially thought. Spaced out at fairly regular intervals on its wooden surface, lay what seemed to be stacks of magazines. Using his wand to summon the nearest stack, Harry removed the twine that held them together and picked the copy on top.

Each year, a few weeks before Christmas, the Prophet would release its annual catalog for the holidays, and today appeared to be that day. Within was page after page of promotions coming from businesses in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and beyond. They ranged from discounts on brooms from Quality Quidditch Supplies, deals on ingredients at Hobb's Bogs and Frogs, seasonal sweets at Honeydukes, to financial advising from Gringotts. He was pleased to see that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes got its own two page spread, which looked remarkably like the inside of their store. Images of their products zipped around the page, letting out obnoxious noises, puffing into smoke, and showing off their effects. The fireworks that burst into the likeliness of the twins was enough for him to burst out laughing.

With the reminder of Christmas, Harry began the arduous task of slogging through the catalog looking for gifts for his friends. It was a painful process, one he wished he could do without, but he loved his friends and they deserved something nice for the holidays. After a few selections, he found that the rest became remarkably easy when he narrowed his gift choices down to the categories of sweets, books, Quidditch, or any combination of the above.

The problem came when finding gifts for Daphne and Fleur. There was a myriad of jewelry that was being sold, some enchanted, some not, but buying something that expensive felt far too forward. He was unsure of his feelings towards Daphne, and he had to continually remind himself that she was using him as her date.

Fleur on the other hand was difficult for an entirely different reason. He knew what he wanted to buy her, he had actually already told her what it was. Back at Grimmauld Place he had promised to buy her a pair of mittens and a cloak for her strong dislike of cold temperatures. Flipping through the catalog, he could find one item or the other on almost every single page, but none of them felt right. He couldn't envision her wearing any of them, they just weren't special enough for her.

"Hello Harry," Harry stopped his frustrated page turning and looked up into the silvery eyes that could only belong to Luna. "You look like you were bargaining with a Heliopath, they don't take kindly to compromise. It's best to deal with them where there is a lot of water," she said, sitting down across from him. All eyes in the Great Hall were focused on the two them but Luna hardly seemed to notice.

"Flaming Acromantula actually," Harry corrected with a laugh, unconsciously rubbing his burn.

"Maybe. That could just be what they wanted you to think, they're a tricky bunch," Luna cocked her head to the side and peered closely at him through squinted eyes, before flicking them down to the magazine in his hand. "Daddy put out his own catalog this year with the Quibbler, I'm surprised I haven't seen anyone looking through it," she frowned.

"Maybe I'll take a look at it, I haven't had much luck with this thing," Harry grumbled over his recent frustrations.

"I think you should. You never know when you'll run into a pack of vampires, and Daddy is selling garlic jewelry. He says they're both fashionable and functional."

"Maybe I'll order one for Lavender. Her boggart back in third year was a Vampire," Harry joked.

"I think that would be a wonderful gift," excitement twinkled in Luna's eyes, "However, I don't think Lavender would like the smell much."

"Her loss," Harry shrugged.

"You said you were having bad luck?" Luna returned to the comment he made previously.

"Yeah… I was looking for a cloak and m-"

Before Harry could finish, he felt Luna's tiny hand slip into his own as she yanked him up from his seat with a surprising amount of strength for her small frame.

"Luna!" Harry shouted while being dragged out of the Great Hall. It was only when they made it to the grand staircase that she turned around and acknowledged his calls for her attention. "Where are you taking me?" he massaged his shoulder after nearly having it pulled out by the blonde.

"To find a cloak of course," she replied matter-of-factly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Luna…" he sighed, "I know where to find a cloak, what do you think I was doing all this time," he waved his now empty hand where the catalog was previously held.

"Yes, but not a special cloak."

"A cloak is a cloak, there's nothing special about any of them," Harry cringed internally the moment the words left his mouth. Finding something special was the exact reason why he hadn't picked any of the other cloaks.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Luna chided as they stepped onto one of the larger moving staircases that would take them up to the higher floors, "you would know that's not true better than most. Your cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows."

"The deadly wha-?" before he could ask Luna about the origins of her latest eccentricity, the staircase gave a sudden lurch nearly throwing him off. Quickly, he caught hold of the railing with his left hand while his right caught Luna by her waist, just as she was falling past him. Pulling her in, the muscles of his left arm screamed out in protest with the strain he was putting it under by keeping the two of them on the staircase and not free falling to the cold stone floor far below.

The random jerking of the staircase settled after a few heart stopping moments, giving Harry just enough time to position them safely before his grip slipped.

"Wha-what the bloody hell just happened!?" Harry panted, with one hand still held protectively on Luna, some of Ron's influence leaking into his language under the stress.

For once she had nothing to say, leaning into his shoulder just as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

When the staircase finally reached its destination they both jumped off, relief flooding through their veins at the feel of solid, unmoving ground beneath their feet. Harry mentally added that to the list of reasons why he took the passages over the staircases.

In a much more subdued mood than their spontaneous journey began, Harry followed Luna through the twisting corridors of the castle as she softly sang to herself beneath her breath. He recognized the area as near the entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitory.

Taking a sharp, unexpected turn into a hallway he hadn't noticed until entering, Luna skipped to what appeared to be a dead end. The gallery looked increasingly naked from the last time he saw it, but perhaps that could have been caused by the difference between night and day. With the torches put out in the sunlight, the walls appeared to stretch for miles and the ceiling draped with blue tapestries looked as high as if someone were peering up at the sky. It was the corridor he had stumbled upon the morning he returned from Grimmauld Place.

"Harry come on," Luna singsongingly called to him from a stairwell that had not been there previously.

Passing through where the dead-end used to be, Harry felt the familiar trickle of magic against his skin that he associated with the hidden passages that wormed their way through Hogwarts. With each step he took up the steep stairs, the sensation of his body travelling further than physically possible washed over him. It was a complex piece of magic similar to the one used by the Ministry at the World Cup Final.

Luna was out of sight, having bound up the stairs with an energy Harry did not possess. Upon reaching the top, Harry entered a lavishly decorated room that looked better suited to being found in a palace rather than the fortress that was Hogwarts. Gold and bronze trimmings lined every surface the eye could see. Stone carvings of woodland scenes dominated every space of the wall not covered by elaborate tapestries; while dark oak furniture mirrored these designs with their own depictions featuring centaur, unicorns, and eagles.

Slowly turning around the room, still examining its contents, Harry began to discern that each scene played in a sequence that told a bigger story. Without any context it was difficult for him to make an accurate assumption, but from what he could gather the story took place in a magical forest, perhaps even the Forbidden Forest. The expansive view the tower room gave of said forest aided in his inference.

"My mother commissioned the building of this room upon my eleventh birthday," a chill ran down Harry's spine at the words that seemed to float from another plane of existence. "It was in celebration of my first steps as a proper witch."

"Hello, Lady Ravenclaw," Harry greet politely, turning from the breathtaking view to see the floating form of Helena Ravenclaw enter from an adjoining room with Luna in tow.

"She loved nature," she nodded politely as she moved next to him, "the forest you see is one she visited in Albania as a child. She took me there often throughout my childhood. She would often walk the Forbidden Forest, but always said it could never compare to her forest in Albania, which was why she had it immortalized here in my room."

"Why didn't you tell me you know Helena Ravenclaw, Harry?" Luna piped up from the side.

"I really only met her once a few weeks ago," Harry scratched the back of his head, wondering over the absurdity of the situation. "I didn't know you knew her either."

"Oh, I've been friends with Helena for a while. She looked very lonely and sad one day, like I used to be before I had friends, so I went up and talked to her" she explained. "I don't think she likes being a ghost very much," Luna added in a whisper, but judging by the smile on Helena's translucent lips she had still heard.

"Your Luna is a gentle soul unlike I have ever met, her company pleases me," Ravenclaw looked fondly at the girl of her house. "I was told you had need of me," she looked at Harry this time as she spoke.

"Yeah… I'm not exactly sure how much you can help with this, but I was looking for a cloak," Harry felt entirely ridiculous asking a ghost for help in finding an article of clothing for a gift.

"I have a cloak," she responded as if it was something perfectly normal for a ghost to say.

"A special one," Luna chimed in.

Deciding to just go with whatever happened from here on out, Harry followed Luna and Helena into a small adjoining bedroom that must have been created by a type of spacial manipulation charm. It was a wonder that it hadn't expired over the past hundreds of years, but then again, it was enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself.

Laying there, across the back of a chair, was a pale blue cloak that glimmered in the sunlight streaming in from a lone open window. It matched the color of Fleur's eyes. Harry instantly knew this was what he had been looking for. Just as Luna said, this was a special cloak, one made to be worn by the beautiful Veela.

Picking it up, the material ran over his hand like a waterfall; pooling in his grasp, it was perhaps the softest thing he had ever touched. Magic rolled off of it in waves, slipping between his fingers quicker than a fading dream upon waking. The cloak swirled within his possession, surging with the wildness of a whirlpool. It felt as if nature itself was trapped within each delicate stich, a power beyond the material it was encased in. It was a type of magic he had only felt once before, albeit being an entirely different sensation in its own unique way, and that was when he held his father's cloak for the first time on Christmas Day nearly five years ago.

He must have been standing there for quite some time, eyes glazed over, basking in the almost sensual feel of the magic woven between each fine strand, because Luna poked him gently in the side to gain his attention. "It's Helena Ravenclaw's cloak," she pointed to the item and its enchanting sheen.

"I gathered that, Luna," Harry said, gesturing around the room they found themselves in and the ghost not five feet away.

"No, it's _Helena Ravenclaw' cloak_ ," she repeated what he already knew with wide eyes, looking at him as if it made a difference, "like Ravenclaw's diadem...?" she expounded further.

Harry simply gave her a blank look, never having heard of either.

"It's like the Sword of Gryffindor but for Ravenclaw," she explained in a way that Harry could understand.

"Ah," he rubbed the tender patch of skin above his brow, feeling a touch embarrassed about never having heard of the famous artifacts and doing so in front of Ravenclaw herself. Trying to save face, he looked to the ghost of Ravenclaw, "It's incredible, my lady. I've only felt something so masterfully enchanted in my father's cloak."

Ravenclaw was almost caught off guard with the praise, her pale eyes searching his own. Finding whatever she had been looking for, her shoulders and chest swelled with pride and a hint of color rose in her shade, highlighting her deathly beauty. "Many thanks, I could think of no higher praise. I remember your father and his mischievous group of friends, his cloak was exquisite."

"What does it do?" If his father's cloak rendered him invisible, he could hardly imagine what Ravenclaw's could do.

"Always so curious," she laughed, but with no breath it sounded queer, "how could I reward the knowledge my house prides if I gave away its secrets? I have no doubt a sharp mind can discover its uses in time. It is through exploration that we develop, and in the end more will be learnt than if I tell you."

Harry would be lying if he said he was not disappointed, but he saw no point in arguing. He had spoken often enough with Dumbledore to have grown use to discovering things on his own. "Can you tell me at least one thing?" Harry tried, and continued when she gave him a look that appeared to give him permission, "Will it keep someone warm?" he eyed the almost impossibly thin material.

"Whoever it is that holds such a special place in your heart will never feel the touch of cold again," she said reading his intentions perfectly.

"You'll let me take it?" Harry's face betrayed his shock. The cloak was an incredibly powerful magical artifact, one that would be considered priceless by the Ministry and historians alike.

"It does no good locked up in this tower, and I have no use for it in my form," her words sounded chocked, a sharp bitterness underlying it all.

Folding the cloak tightly into the pocket of his robes, Harry thanked the ghost of Ravenclaw and made to leave but stopped himself. The last time he had asked her this, the result was not pretty and he understood for the first time since joining the Wizarding World why some witches and wizards were afraid of ghosts. "I… asked you this before…" he started hesitantly, "but why stay behind? Why lock yourself away in this lonely existence you hate so much?"

Helena's back was facing him, but he could see her ghostly image still as the temperature of the bedroom cooled unpleasantly. Rotating on the spot with nought a sound, the Grey Lady was the very image of her cursed name. His knowledge on the magic behind ghosts was spotty at best, but from what he could tell it looked as though whatever life force remained in her mirrored image was drained out of her. She was an ashen wall forged in grief, with tears of silver trailing down her sculpted face.

For a moment he felt a trickle of dread at the base of his spine and feared the worst. But as quickly as she turned to stone, her form began to clear, brightening the room as if a cloud had just passed by the sun.

"My mother was never one for softness. Her life was dominated by the running of Hogwarts, teaching, and her own projects. Her legacy got in the way of raising her only child," she started, her sweet voice singing a sorrowful melody. "She tried when she could, such as this very room and our trips to Albania, but as a child I did not understand. It is fascinating what one begins to see after existing for centuries. I suppose she loved me in her own way, but it was difficult for her to express, not unlike her projects which she could blather on about all day," there was sad smile playing on her lips, her very spirit travelling back to its own time.

"I was a bitter child, foolish and vain. My mother was important, renowned throughout Europe for her achievements, but not once was my name ever mentioned in company with hers. I inherited her talent, or so I was told by Godric and Salazar, and so I took it upon myself to prove it to the world. That was what led to the creation of my cloak… my life's work. But upon its completion, I was once again overshadowed by my mother's crowning achievement, her diadem…"

"And so I stole it. To use its power and prove I was cleverer and more important than my mother ever could be. I ran away with it. My mother fell sick upon my betrayal, and in my foolishness I thought it was over the loss of the diadem and not her daughter. I fled to Albania, in truth it was not the best place to hide given its history, but perhaps deep down I wanted her to find me. And she did… but too ill she was to come herself, so she sent the Baron," she spat the name like a curse.

"The Baron came upon me with broken heart in hand, not for my mother but for himself. Long he had loved me, violent to others in his obsession, but alas his desire was unrequited. He pleaded and begged over his want to have me, but I spurned him as I was no one's woman but my own. He turned to use my mother's impending death against me, but guilt and shame held me back. In a rage, he declared that if he could not have me, none shall, and stuck me with steel to prove he spoke true," she reached beneath the fold of her dress, just beneath her breast, and revealed a ghastly wound leaking black.

"Death took me and him both, and to this day his obsession festers, tormenting my very existence. But the diadem pains me more than a thousand Baron's ever could. My guilt and shame held me from returning to my mother, just as my guilt and shame keep me from her now," Ravenclaw's lament ended on a note that echoed in sadness that could last a millennium.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Harry spoke, his voice dry, nearly choking on the emotion of her story.

There was a pause, a juncture where time stood still, where her dead eyes stared across the veil to his living form. He could feel her magic on him, caressing his very being in a way that was far more intimate than anything he had ever experienced, but was likely not so for her. She stared at his scar as she spoke, nowhere else, "Another made a promise to me once… never again."

She then fled the room.

"She does that a lot," Luna looked through the wall the ghost had just passed through, "I'm going to go tell her about the Snorkack hunt me and Daddy are going on over the holidays, she likes those stories," Luna finished, skipping out of the room in search of her ghost friend.

Feeling entirely overwhelmed over what had transpired and learning the tragic story of Helena Ravenclaw, Harry descended from her lonely tower and returned to the castle proper. Without any destination in mind, Harry took to wandering the upper floors of the castle, fingering the ethereal cloak he had been given while thinking of the circumstances of how he would gift it to Fleur. He wanted it to be a moment between the two of them, something he could cherish selfishly away from prying eyes.

He hadn't encountered anyone throughout his roaming, which came as no surprise due to the disuse of this part of the castle. Only Divination and Astronomy where held in the upper floors, and very few students took them past their OWLs. The only students that regularly passed through were the ones heading to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dormitories, or those looking for an empty classroom or broom closet for a snog.

That was why he was mildly surprised to hear the shuffling of footsteps and the distinct jangle of jewelry echoing down the hall.

"-ack of spades… a doomed path is being walked, one not easily changed, the only certainty being death," a hollow voiced bounced off the walls, followed by what sounded like the shuffling of papers, "Queen of hearts… through pain love is found, through tragedy it is forged, through both an answer will be found," another shuffle was accompanied with the faint smell of sherry, "King of Clubs… an old love is found, one that gave way to tragedy but now can lead to triumph, the game of kings is not to be taken lightly," the pattern continued, "Seven of diamonds… a powerful number, a damned number, one of extraordinary value… Ace of hearts… one life, one death, one love, survival through destruction…" the doomed voice disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

Part of his mind encouraged him to chase after the diviner, while the other part screamed in protest telling him to run the other way. He was at war with himself over his need for answers and the fear of what he might hear. His last encounter with the professor left him feeling strange for weeks, there was no telling what would happen this time around.

The choice was taken out of his hands, however, as a faint clip-clopping sound approached from his rear. Turning quickly, his wand ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, Harry was met with the same empty corridor he had just recently walked through. Despite this, the sound continued to grow, waking the dormant portraits that lined the wall.

It was utterly bizarre, with what sounded like the hooves of a charging hippogriff that was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone barmy? It couldn't be, the portraits heard it as well.

"Will you quite making such a racket!" A blue bearded wizard with pumpkins for ears shouted from his frame.

"We're tryin' to sleep ya bloody poof!" screeched a muscled, bald witch one portrait over, just as a gaggle of hags croaked their agreement from their spot on the opposite wall.

"What villains are these who dare order Sir Cadogan! I am a knight of noble heart; it will be a duel to the death with whoever challenges my honor! Tell me you scurvy dog, will it be my sword you taste?"

"There ain't one bit of ya I'd ever want ta taste, an' I'll tell ya where you can shove that sword. Take yer fat cow and leave us be!" The same witch shouted at the approaching knight, flexing her muscles and glaring at him with hard black eyes.

"Fortune smiles upon you today, wench, for I am on a noble quest. Though one day I will return and cut out your black heart for besmirching my name, you scoundrel," he shouted back, making sure to keep his distance from the woman.

It was moments later that Sir Cadogan came trotting into view on the canvas of a wizard passed out from drink that was next to Harry. He was riding what looked to be the fattest pony Harry had ever seen; his armour was clanging together making enough noise to wake half the castle.

"Comrade, I come bearing news from the king," he greeted with a bow after stumbling off of his stead in the most ungraceful of ways. It was only then that Harry noticed why the old knight was struggling. He was missing an arm.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked. There was no blood nor stub of a limb, it looked as if his left arm had faded away. Had Harry not met him previously he would have thought it never existed.

"A grand battle with the Wyvern of Wye, if only you could have witnessed my acts of valour. The singers will be singing of my deeds for years to come. But alas, there is no time for tales. The king has a message he would like me to pass on."

"The king?" the man was absolutely mental.

Planting his sword into the wooden floor of the unconscious wizard's home, Sir Cadogan took a knee and unfurled a scroll. "The king requests your presence past sundown this evening. He cites the reason being 'a good time for a chat' and made certain of me to remind you that 'Peppermint Pixies are wonderful seasonal treats'. I wish you good fortune in your journey."

* * *

The final traces of the headache he developed after his encounter with Sir Cadogan were disappearing. It took a hearty dinner prepared by Dobby in the kitchen and a Pepperup potion he convinced Kreacher to filch from Grimmauld Place, to make him feel better.

The door to Dumbledore's office was open when he reached the top of the stairs, and Harry took it as an invitation to enter.

"-ly has perfected them over generations! I am telling you Albus, it has nothing to do with us. I am certain someone can come in and give you a consultation, but it must be coming from another source."

Harry stepped into the office and saw that Dumbledore was looking at something to the right of the doorway. Turning in the direction Dumbledore was facing, Harry found the source of the voice he heard moments earlier.

"Thank you Everard, I will look into this further. I have only the highest respect for your family's business," Dumbledore spoke to the canvas of an elderly wizard. "Harry I'm glad you could join me this evening," he turned and greeted with a kind smile.

"It's my pleasure, sir," Harry smiled in return, "Though, next time I could do without Sir Cadogan being the messenger."

Dumbledore's laugh was deep and filled the room with warmth, it was obvious he was amused with himself.

"That old blighter's still around here? He's almost as old as the collection itself. I always got a good kick out of him," the man spoke from his frame. Harry took the opportunity to get a better look at the talking painting. The man had hair as black as night and alarming blue eyes that shone like jewels, he looked familiar but Harry couldn't place why at the moment. "Maybe I'll go see if I can find him for old time's sake," he added before disappearing from his frame.

"A former Headmaster?" Harry asked, hoping to move on to the actual lesson soon. He'd had enough dealings with portraits today to last a long time.

"Everard was granted a position of honor in this office for services to the school a good many years ago. He was one of the few non-headmasters granted the privilege."

Harry found that genuinely interesting. "I'm sure you didn't call on me to discuss artwork, sir."

"No, in fact I did not," Dumbledore chuckled through his beard, inviting Harry to take a seat across from him. "In a past lesson we examined the history of the Gaunt family and their steep descent into madness. Given yesterday's excitement, I feel as though today would be a good day to view another memory. Our practical lessons and discussions on magical theory can continue on a later date."

"That sounds agreeable, I do still feel a bit off from everything that's happened."

"I am not surprised. Such is the nature of potions; they do marvelous work in healing the body but their effects linger before being flushed out. I have already mentioned this, but I was most impressed with your performance against the Acromantula. They are not a simple foe, and to efficiently dispatch of so many on your own is a testament to how much you have grown."

"Thank you, sir, but I feel as though I could have done better," he rubbed the scar that ran along his jaw.

"Not every victory is without cost, Harry. It will do good to remember that," Dumbledore advised. "I have a scar on my knee that resembles the map of the London underground that I acquired from a particularly nasty curse some time ago, it helps remind me the same," there was a shadow of regret behind his old blue eyes.

Reaching out to a vial standing at the edge of his desk, Dumbledore's gloved hand spasmed, knocking it over the edge; only Harry's quick reflexes catching it before falling to the floor.

"Professor are you alright?" Harry looked at the wizened wizard in concern.

"Yes, thank you, I'm fine," he reached out again before jerking his hand back sharply, hissing in pain.

"Sir!" Harry shot to his feet and moved to the headmaster's side. "What happened?"

Dumbledore was bent forward, his glove hand clenched closely against his chest, while his other one flickered through the drawers of his desk looking for something. Eventually he pulled out a golden seed of some sort, which he dropped into a liquid that looked like tea, drinking it all in one go. Whatever concoction he had prepared, it appeared to have a positive effect on his hand which regained its previous control.

"Nothing to worry about, Harry," he tried to reassure his student, much of the pain leaving his face. "Simply an accident in one of my experiments. I'm afraid my body does not heal as quickly as it once did."

"Are you sure?" Harry was not convinced. Rarely had he ever seen Dumbledore caught off guard, not even when fighting Voldemort, and never had he seen the man in so much pain. Something was wrong, he could feel it, and it only made him want to know more about what was beneath that leather glove.

"We will have plenty of time to speak about the pains of growing old and my foolishness in the future, my boy. Tonight, however, we will delve deeper into Tom's past," he uncorked the vial and poured the memory into the floating pensieve he called from across the room.

"How far back are we going this time?"

"Tonight we will be visiting Tom in his childhood. It is an unpleasant memory, and one I wish I had gleamed during my visit to the orphanage. I had known him to be a troubled child, one with a penchant for violence, but never would I ever imagined what we are about to witness. Had I… perhaps none of this would ever had happened," he paused, eyes downcast before continuing. "The memory comes from one Amy Benson, who never did fully recover from what happened."

Harry's eyes shot open in shock, though it probably should have been expected, "He did this as a child? Before Hogwarts?"

"I scarcely believed it myself when I first saw it, but yes. This marked an important moment in Tom's life, where his witnessed firsthand the effects of his cruelty and the power he could wield over others, both innocent and those he thought had wronged him."

Together they reached in and touched the surface of the pensieve, one moment standing in Dumbledore's office and the next falling away from the world in a flash of light.

The first thing Harry noticed was the distinct scent of salt assaulting his senses. There was a strong breeze blowing his hair and robes behind him, one that would have been bitterly cold had he been actually able to feel it.

One thing he had learnt from his forays into the past with Dumbledore's pensieve was that each memory was unique. Different sensations could be emphasized depending on the situation and its importance to the perceiver. In this case, Amy Benson likely enjoyed the smell of salt in the air and was not particularly bothered by the cold.

No two memories are alike, as they are all influenced by the those whose experience you are living through. That had prompted him to ask Dumbledore if memories were at all reliable. It turned out that in the general sense they were, but at the same time were susceptible to tampering both internally and externally. It was that exact reason why memories could not be used in a court of law, since they could be manipulated, biased, removed, or outright false. Any major alterations to a memory were normally easy to detect, but often the smaller details could be shaped and changed without notice.

However, Dumbledore did take care to mention that there are those who are particularly skilled in that area of magic, and could recreate an entirely new set of memories without anyone being the wiser. Surprisingly enough, Gilderoy Lockhart had been one of those wizards, which only made the poetic justice of his fate that much sweeter.

"The coast is a beautiful place is it not," Dumbledore appeared next to him in his midnight blue robes. "There's something about the sea air that is refreshing to the soul," he took in a deep breath in accompany with his statement.

Together they walked a stony path along the edge of quaint village centered around a single pub and church, both of which were the busiest of all buildings. It looked to be about noon, couple's young and old walking the main street either leaving or making their way back to their cottages that lined the coast.

"They are awaiting us ahead," Dumbledore gestured in the direction of a large gathering of children stretching between the ages of what looked to be five and sixteen. Harry recognized the figure of Mrs. Cole from the memory of the orphanage, but there were other figures there as well watching over the children.

"Just as always, you have the next hour to yourselves for lunchtime. Don't stray too far, we want to keep on schedule for the activities planned in the afternoon," Harry was able to pick up on Mrs. Cole's voice over the wind. "And please be sure to eat your apples!" she cried out as an afterthought, just as the children started to disperse in their own groups.

As if dictated by the memory, Harry's attention was brought to young girl about eight or nine with mousy brown hair pulled into two uneven pigtails, brown eyes, and a button nose. She could only be Amy Benson.

"Amy!" Harry turned his head away from the girl, and saw a boy of around the same age with a freckled nose, shaggy blonde hair that desperately needed a cut, and a missing front tooth approach. "Do you want to go look for shells and cool rocks by the water?" there was a slight whistle that accompanied his speech, as air passed through the gap in his teeth. "Alfie told me that he found a diamond last year!"

The little girl, Amy, scrunched up her face in a manner that showed she was thinking hard, "Alfie is lying to you, Dennis. If he found a diamond he'd be rich," she spread her arms out wide as if it were a proper estimation of wealth, "and if he was rich he wouldn't live with us anymore," she smiled, proud of her logic.

"Nuh uh," Dennis shook his head in denial, "he showed it to me! It was shiny and everything! C'mon, I want to find a diamond too, and you have good eyes, you always find pennies on the ground."

"Or maybe the pennies find her," a more cultured voice compared to the heavily accented English of the other two children came from behind them.

Upon hearing the voice, the two children had very different reactions to it. Amy almost shrunk in upon herself, heavily blushing, peering shyly at the grass beneath her shoes. Whereas Dennis stiffened, an angry look on his face, but one that was built upon fear. He could see the terror in Dennis' mossy eyes, wanting to run away but bravely staying behind for Amy.

"How would the pennies even do that?" Dennis tried to mock.

"Magic," Tom Riddle's eyes lit up with his response, causing Dennis to flinch and shuffle back a half inch.

"Amy c'mon let's go," he sounded almost frantic in his rushed speech, like a mouse caught in a trap, "I want to get a diamond before Alfie finds them all."

But much to his despair, Amy didn't budge from her position on the grass. Instead, she peaked up at Tom who was handsome even as a child. He did not know it at the time, but the boy looked the very image of his father. In a small, but hopeful voice she spoke up, "Maybe Tom can help us find some?" She looked back at Dennis, who had grown as pale as a ghost at the idea, "Remember when Tom found Roger's marbles in the drain? Nobody could reach their fingers inside but Tom still got them out."

"And then he stole them!" Dennis spat, showing some of his fiery bravery.

"Dennis!" Amy looked horrified, "You're being rude to Tom," she shot a quick glance at Riddle before looking away immediately, her cheeks red again.

"I can prove it." Dennis looked strong in his childlike resolve, although the effect was ruined by the whistle that escaped his mouth on the last word.

"I'd like to see you try," Tom stared back unblinking at the other boy, cowing him instantly.

"Dennis stop being so mean! Apologize to Tom. Beside, you should have done so after scaring away the snake last week," Amy looked pleadingly at her friend, wanting to make a good impression on Tom.

"He was talking to the snake, it was freaky!" Dennis tried to reason with Amy.

"He was my friend," Tom's voice was cold, and filled with a fury no child should have.

Amy stared at little Dennis, her hands on her hips.

"Fine…" Dennis pouted, his posture as reluctant as his voice, "I'm sorry, Tom," Amy gave him a little kick, "… for being rude… and for scaring your friend."

"I don't need friends," was his only response, his words causing Amy to frown in sadness.

"Oh, well, we were going to go look for diamonds by the shore…" she trailed off, trying not to show the disappointment she felt at Tom not wanting to be her friend.

"I know the best place to find diamonds," he said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with what Harry thought to be anticipation. Something changed in that moment, where Tom Riddle became more beast than boy. "I'm taking you there," he commanded with force.

Some of Amy's youthful exuberance returned in that moment, a smile stretching ear to ear. Taking Dennis by the hand, she dragged him after Tom who was leading them away, further and further from the children of the Orphanage and their supervisors. Only Dennis seemed to notice this, his protestations falling flat on Amy's deaf ears.

They stopped at the edge of a cliff, which dropped off to a rocky shoreline being battered by waves.

"W-we n-need to g-g-go back. Mrs. Cole said n-not to travel this far," Dennis stuttered, his entire body trembling.

"Do you want diamonds or not!" Tom snapped, his patience having run out with the other boy. The hatred within his tone was enough to cause even Amy to flinch. Realizing his mistake, Tom quickly schooled his features, before continuing in an uncharacteristically polite voice, "It's only a little farther."

Before either of the two children could react, Tom grabbed hold of both their shoulders and vanished into thin air. Harry and Dumbledore followed immediately after.

"Did he just apparate?" Harry looked at the old wizard disturbed at what had just transpired.

Dumbledore stared out at sea for a moment before looking at Harry through his half-moon spectacles. "I feel as though I recall you telling me a story of you escaping your cousin at school one day."

"Yes, but that was accidental! This…" Harry gesticulated up at the cliff they had been standing on seconds before, "…this was-"

"Accidental as well," Dumbledore cut off, causing Harry to look at him in disbelief. "Tom was clueless to what he was doing other than very much wanting to bring Amy and Dennis down from the cliff. Remember, Tom was ignorant of magic in its true form at this point in time," Dumbledore explained as the memory paused around them for the time being.

"The amount of control Tom had as a child was remarkable, and I knew he had the makings of a prodigy. But everything he ever did was under the false assumption that they were his own special powers. He perverted the nature of magic, twisting it for his own selfish desires, enforcing his will on it and those around him. In essence, he was no different than a baby who wants their favorite rattle from across the room, or a child looking to escape the torment of his cousin. There is only a strong want for something to happen, not knowing how it is possible. He was a master of manipulating accidental magic, not knowing the causes or consequences of his desires. Everything he accomplished was done in ignorance. Look no further than what happened to your Aunt Marge."

"The moment he took hold of his wand and was taught the basics of properly focusing and channelling true magic, his special powers disappeared. He was on a level with the rest of the first years, albeit with a higher sensitivity to magic than others. Do not fret, Tom was forced to re-learn proper apparition during his schooling. The memory is meant to give a better understanding of Tom's nature more so than anything else."

The memory resumed around them.

"Amy! Amy!" Ben's frightened screams could barely be heard over the sound of crashing waves. He ran over to the small girl hunched over on the ground, coughing and panting in an effort to catch her breath.

"Dennis? Tom?" she sounded confused looking around at the hundred feet or so they travelled in a second.

"I told you! I told you we shouldn't have gone with Tom! He's a freak, he's going to hurt us, just like he hurts all the other boys!" There was pure terror in his boyish cries, as he tried to drag away the curled up form of Amy who had yet to recover from their instantaneous travel.

"Stop." Tom's voice instantly froze Dennis. "Come here." There was a confidence in Tom's tone, as if he had done this before, and took pleasure in playing with those under his command. "Kick Amy," his eyes danced with a cruelty beyond his years.

Amy shrieked in pain, as Dennis knocked the girl onto the rocky floor.

"Again."

There was a moment of hesitation, as if Dennis was fighting an unseen force, but he failed.

Amy screeched and Tom laughed.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

With each kick, her wails grew louder and louder, and Tom's laughter grew near hysteric.

"Shut up. Stop crying." And Amy immediately grew silent, the last of her tears dripping off her cheeks.

"Let's find some diamonds," his smile was malicious as he led the two children into a cave.

The cave was near pitch black, and for a moment Harry thought the children would get lost, until a greenish glow emanated in the distance. The expansive cavern opened up to a pool of water that better resembled a small lake. At the center stood a small outcrop of rocks that formed an island. The only light was that which was being given off by the water.

"Get on your knees," Tom ordered Dennis, who stood at the edge of the glowing pool. Much to Harry's surprise, Dennis resisted Tom's order, standing straight with tears streaming silently from his eyes. "Now." And with that one word, Dennis howled in pain and collapsed into a wriggling mess on the ground. Tom's monstrous eyes danced with glee the longer he punished Dennis for his disobedience. "On your knees, Dennis," he practically hissed his name.

Once Dennis complied, Tom stood above him and looked down at his victim. There was a moment of utter silence, where Dennis' whimpers had quieted, Amy sat in abject horror, and Tom stood in quiet contemplation. The peace was broken by a single word, "Down," and Dennis' face was shoved into the water.

Amy screamed. Tom laughed. And Dennis thrashed violently underwater.

"Up." Dennis was brought up looking more like a sewer rat than a boy.

"Down." He was put under again.

It was a game to Tom, playing with a life at the command of two words. He held all the power.

"Up."

"Down."

He could hear them plead, and cry, and beg, but in the end it was him who had control.

"Up."

"Mommy…" Dennis whimpered, water dribbling from his nose and mouth.

"Down."

"Stop!" It was Amy now who was bawling, unable to comprehend what went wrong and why Tom was doing this.

"Up!"

"Stop Tom!"

"Mo-"

"Down."

"Tom please!"

"Up."

"Mommy!"

"Down."

"Tom please, we just wanted to be your friends," choked sounds tumbled out of Amy's mouth.

Turning his head to the broken little girl on the ground, Tom's eyes burned with such intensity they looked almost crimson in the dark light. Amy looked into his eyes for the first time that day, unable to look at her friend any longer as fewer and fewer bubbles escaped Dennis' twisted frame.

"I don't need friends," Lord Voldemort spoke.

Coming in from all directions were twisted black shadows reaching out to snap at Harry's limbs. The memory began to lose color, the scenes starting to skip and stretch, disorienting Harry as he stood amidst it all. His stomach was in his throat, threatening to spill his dinner. The world began to spin as he felt himself fall away, the darkness wrapping around him like vines, pulling him off balance only for him to be caught before tumbling.

Looking up, he could see the concerned face of Albus Dumbledore tightly gripping his shoulder in the office they had left behind earlier in the evening.

"What was that?" Harry let out a groan as he took a seat. That had never happened before when leaving a memory.

"It was a corrupted memory. One so twisted and evil that it tries to feast on those who watch it. That was Amy Benson's worst memory, a living nightmare, and one that has haunted her for a lifetime. A nightmare has no purpose but to spread terror and feast on its product, a vile magic that no soul should ever experience."

"And I was… What would have happened if I was trapped in there?" a shiver rattled down Harry's spine upon asking the question.

Dumbledore didn't speak, the look on his face told him all he needed to know.

"He was a monster," Harry finally said, in reference to the memory.

"Something I was hard pressed to agree with at one point, but now there is little that could make me think the contrary."

"Dennis?"

"Has passed. The boy changed after leaving the cave, and died not a decade later," Harry could see a tear form at the corner of Dumbledore's eye. "Miss Benson has fared little better," he could only imagine how painful it was for Dumbledore to watch that, having been an educator for so many years.

"I apologize for having shown you this, Harry," Dumbledore reached into his desk and poured out a pair of glasses of Ogden's Finest, passing one over to Harry before taking a long drink. "It was a necessary evil meant to show you that Tom's soul was corrupt even from a young age. There is little he won't do to achieve his own ends."

There was little Harry could say in response to that, instead choosing to partake in his own drink.

"I believe that will be all for tonight," Dumbledore sat down his empty glass, his skin still pale from the experience of the memory. "Unless there is anything you might like to ask?"

"Actually…" now that Dumbledore mentioned it, there was one thing that had been playing on his mind near the entire day, "you see, er, there is Slughorn's party and I'm taking someone, but-"

Dumbledore burst into a hearty laugh, some color and joy returning to him, "You are asking me for romantic advice, my boy? It has been a long, long time since I have been on the market so to say," Harry flushed at Dumbledore's words. "But perhaps there is something I can do for you and Miss Greengrass."

"How did you-" Dumbledore tapped his crooked nose with a finger and gave him a wink, to which Harry could only laugh. "I just don't know what to get her," Harry was speaking out his frustration now, "I would imagine it is customary for me to do so?"

"Yes, tradition demands it. The Greengrass' are an old family and they would expect no less."

"You don't suppose a bundle of Bertie Botts would be enough?" Harry ran a tired hand through his hair.

"For you friend Ronald, perhaps. And though I'm sure Miss Greengrass enjoys running the roulette as much as the rest of us, I fear you will have to do better than that," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Are you sure there isn't anything stored up in that century worth of experience of yours?"

Checking the time on his golden stopwatch, Dumbledore rose from his seat. "Life is all too brief to waste what little time we have on things such as sleep. It seems as though our evening is not yet over. Your wand, Harry," Dumbledore called as he drew his own.

"Wand work, sir?" Harry couldn't keep the excitement from his voice.

"Yes, it seems the responsibility has fallen on to me to teach you how to woe a lady. Oh how much James and Sirius must be loving this," Dumbledore chortled, his beard bouncing with each shake of his shoulders.

"Now in order for this little trick to work, we must familiarize ourselves with elemental transfiguration," Dumbledore began to lecture, the passion of his chosen calling filling the room. The Dumbledore of old returned with his normal youthful energy. His eyes twinkling like the stars in the sky above, as he worked long through the night and into the morning with his favorite student. Lost in the wonder of magic, all was as it should be, the troubles of the world non-existent in the presence of such overwhelming love.

 **AN 2.0: I'm back! I apologize for the long wait between last chapter and this one. My life just got really busy end of July and throughout August, and I didn't have the time to sit down and write. I have really been feeling this story, and there is so much I want to write down and share with you, so getting this out to you all now feels amazing. This chapter was supposed to be released last week, but I ran into some technical problems and thankfully was able to recover what I had written and was not forced to re-write the entire chapter from scratch.**

 **I wanted to thank everyone who has been reading, following, and favouriting, the support this story has been receiving his incredible. I especially wanted to thank everyone who has left a review since I last posted. I love readings everyones thoughts and opinions on what has transpired so far in the story, and I am grateful to all those who have sent in constructive criticism and their thoughts on where I can improve as a writer.**

 **There was a lot of craziness this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing in Sir Cadagon's cameo (so much so that I think he'll have a return some time in the future), as well as the Helena/Luna scene.**

 **For the first time, we are taken inside a memory of Tom. I thought I'd try my hand at something JK did so well in HBP, so let me know your thoughts on that. I have a few more ideas on things I'd like to try. Also, apologies for taking it into such a dark place involving children (I swear I'm not an evil person), I wanted to give some horror a shot.**

 **I wanted to provide an artistic representation of what Harry looks like now with his newest scars, but after twenty minutes of trying I came to the realization that my sketching skills never passed those of a toddler. So if any talented individual wants to use my description to create their own, it would be much appreciated and I would love you forever.**

 **Only a little bit of Fleur this chapter before leaving. But don't worry, Christmas is coming and she'll be there for that wild ride.**

 **Feel free to leave reviews on whatever your hearts desire, I read and appreciate them all. Let me know if you picked up on anything in the text. Next chapter will be Slughorn's Party, it likely won't be as long as this one, so hopefully that means it will be released quicker.**

 **Until next time.**


	12. Chapter 12

A pleasant warmth was flowing through his body, pumping further with each beat of his heart. There was a lazy smile spread across his face; a gentle shroud descending over his mind, covering his senses. The soft and supple leather of the exquisitely crafted divan beneath him created the impression he was floating on a cloud.

"Care for another glass, my boy?" Slughorn offered an already full glass of the elf-made wine they had been enjoying together, the movement jiggling his jowls beneath his red face.

"Perhaps… just one more," Harry ceded to his offer with a laugh. He knew he really should have stopped drinking a few glasses ago, but the wine tasted too good to pass up.

"Yes, yes, one more never hurt anybody. We drink in celebration do we not?" Slughorn cheered with a salute of his glass, splashes of red dropping to the floor from his enthusiasm.

Harry agreed to that. The last few weeks had been a hectic, stressful, and tense conglomeration of events. Upon the resuming of classes following Katie's attack, he had barely a moment to himself to think. His friends had hardly let him out of sight when they were finally reunited, afraid that at any moment he would just keel over and die. His patience was growing a little thin with their constant hovering and protective attitude, but he knew it was all coming from a place of love so he persevered. Ron looked physically sick when he told him how he fought off the Acromantula, and Hermione nearly fainted in shock upon seeing his burns. She was a crying, hugging, and scolding mess of brown hair for the rest of the day, having taken his injury harder than he expected.

On top of this all, assignments piled up across all their classes as the school prepared for their final tests before the holidays. So much so, that much of the school nearly forgot that they were on the verge of civil war. Tensions had escalated astronomically, but the staff had responded admirably in attempting to keep the peace. Aurors from Hogsmeade came in to patrol the hallways more frequently, and professors escorted students through the hallways whenever possible. A fair few attacks, fights, and unfriendly hexes slipped through their ranks on occasion, but none on the level of severity of what happened to Katie and Pansy.

The added strain put on the already busy lives of the professors could be seen as the days wore on, many accepting final papers with heavy bags under their eyes and steaming pots of teas on their desks courtesy of the house elves. Even Snape looked worse than he normally did, so caught up in his many duties that he forgot about giving Harry detention at every opportunity.

Despite this, Harry still found ways to fill the void of his missing detentions. Dumbledore had invited him to partake in a few more of what he liked to call 'magical evenings' in whatever time Harry could spare. They were ones filled with tweaks to his spell work, and discussions ranging from anything between the writings of the Dumbledore family, to his many travels and experiences in other magical centers around the world; their usual good natured jesting flowing through their meetings, causing time to pass faster than either would have liked. It was odd, considering the terms they had ended on last year, that the only thing Harry found himself looking forward to was his time with the old headmaster.

After weeks of hard work, the holidays were finally upon them much to everyone's delight. His final class was a test on Golpalott's Third Law of Poisons, where to Slughorn's delight, Harry had cheekily presented a bezoar before revealing his perfectly brewed antidote curtesy of the Prince. The professor had called him to join him in his office after class, and that was how Harry found himself drinking ludicrously expensive wine with the man in the early afternoon.

"To think that another year has almost gone and passed us by," Slughorn breathed out in a sigh, reclining on velvet cushions with his glass resting on the roundness of his belly. "I would never have thought that I would find such pleasure in dark times like these."

"I'm glad you've found some happiness, sir, the school is all the better for having you here," Harry replied genuinely, he had never had as much fun in Potions class until this year. Part of that did come down to his textbook, but he did enjoy Slughorn's teachings as well.

"It seems Albus was right with his constant pestering over the joys of teaching, I had nearly forgotten that in my years of seclusion. I haven't felt so alive in years, old Armando Dippet was headmaster into his early three hundred's, it makes me feel like the best is yet to come," he slurped down another bit of wine.

"Surely you don't plan on living and working that long? I feel like I'd be happily at rest by that point," Harry jested. He could feel the grip of the wine he was drinking start to addle his wits.

"No, no, living that long... immortality… well, it is better to not mention such things," the redness from drink started to drain from his face, leaving behind odd pale patches. There was a darkness to his tone, one that Harry could not miss. "Besides," Slughorn's normal temperament returned, all traces of his strange reaction vanishing, "before we can speak of days so far into the future, we must survive tonight!" he raised his glass and finished off the rest of his drink.

Harry had to supress a groan at the reminder. Perhaps he should have declined Slughorn's latest offer for a drink, Hermione was not going to be pleased when he saw her later. The thought only made him want to pour another one out.

"You know I am partial to a bit of gossip every now and then," Slughorn continued, causing Harry to chuckle at what was likely the understatement of the century, "but I just couldn't help but overhear that you don't have a date for my party?"

He didn't blame the man for his curiosity. Much of the gossip around Hogwarts had recently switched from his burns to who he would be taking to Slughorn's party. He had lost count at how many girls he had politely declined, most of which who were far too young for his tastes. One witch did stand out to him, but it was not for the reason she would have hoped for. Romilda Vane had cornered him several times in the past weeks, with each attempt of asking him out getting increasingly provocative and desperate. He was unnerved by her boldness and inability to take 'no' for an answer.

"Actually, I am taking someone," Harry said, immediately catching Slughorn's interest, "Daphne Greengrass."

A pleased smile grew underneath his large mustache, "A lovely girl, comes from a great family. I taught both her father and grandfather you know. They were wonderful students, great technique in their brewing, but that comes as no surprise given the importance of potions in their business. Although… some would be surprised you did not take Miss Granger," there was something teasing in his bubbly voice.

"No, err, me and Hermione aren't like that," Harry could feel the blush burning his face. It wasn't the first time someone had come to the wrong conclusion over his friendship with Hermione, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Slughorn gave a big bellied laugh, displaying his amusement. "She's dangerously sharp that friend of yours, I always look forward to reading her papers. However, she does lack that special something in her brewing that you and Miss Greengrass possess."

If Harry felt any shame over receiving praise for the boost he had received since finding the Prince's book, he didn't show it.

"Such talent," his voice echoed off into the vast expanse of his own lavish office, "sometimes it's almost like looking back into the past…"

Harry did not know what to say to that and instead chose to sit silently, watching Slughorn's big, glazed eyes become lost in the images of his former students.

"Oho, enough of me drowning in my troubles! Let us speak of something more exciting! I have received countless letters these past few weeks expressing their acceptance and anticipation of meeting _you_ tonight, my boy. I know you detest much of the attention you receive, but never forget how important certain connections can be," Slughorn nodded his head in the direction of the wall full of photos of his past students.

"In all honesty, sir, I am a bit nervous." Harry had come to accept the circumstances of this evening, but that did not mean he was at all comfortable with it.

"No need to worry, Harry, you've faced worse than a collection of enraptured socialites if what I have been hearing is true. I'll be close at hand, ready to swoop in if you ever need saving. I've been told I have a talent for distracting others with mindless conversation," he laughed in a self-deprecating manner.

"Thank you, sir," Harry chuckled, "I feel safer already." Besides, he had Daphne as a backup if need be.

"Beyond that, I believe that you won't find _every_ guest unenjoyable. A former student of mine, and perhaps the most famous witch in Britain spoke of her desire to meet with you," there was a sly smile on his red wrinkled face, upon seeing Harry's confusion as he tried to deduce who it could be. "Gwenog Jones, my boy," Harry perked up at the name, but not for the reason Slughorn would have thought, "You are friendly with her sister Megan are you not? Perhaps some word of your talent on a broom has reached her ears. I dare say you might even be better than your father."

"I'll be sure to talk to her," Harry replied absently, his mind shifting through the possibilities of what she wanted to speak to him about.

"A wonderful woman," Slughorn shifted slightly in his seat, putting aside his empty glass, "I have a good friend, Eldred Worple, who is returning from a tour of the continent. He is a bit of an excitable chap, but he lives for adventure and writing. He encountered the most fascinating companion on his latest trip, and is bringing him along. The Ministry gave him a bit of trouble, but I managed to smooth things down between them."

"What was the cause of the trouble?"

"He's a Vampire, of course. Met him while travelling near the Black Forest of Bavaria."

"And he's bringing him here?" Harry was still processing what he just heard. Off the top of his head, he couldn't recall much of what he had learnt about Vampires other than their reclusive nature, fear of direct sunlight, and their insatiable thirst for blood.

"Yes, Minister Scrimgeour wasn't very pleased with admitting a dark creature into the country. The Ministry banned all vampires from living on the isle after a nasty incident in 1729 that almost broke the Statue of Secrecy. But I told them that if he was travelling with old Eldred, then he must be a tame one."

"And the Ministry was okay with this?" Harry wasn't entirely sold on the idea of the Vampire attending, he'd had his fair share of run-ins with dangerous magical creatures this year.

"A former student of mine managed to get the appropriate papers in time for their arrival. The Minister has a team of aurors coming in to keep an eye on the situation just in case, however, I'm sure it will be less work and more play for them."

"I suppose it will be an interesting experience, as long as your friend doesn't plan on proposing writing a book about me," Harry jested.

"I can't make you any promises on that."

A quick glance over his shoulder to the intricately carved clock that was made to represent the solar system told Harry that he had spent nearly two hours conversing with his potions professor. He felt that it was time to leave, given that he wanted to grab a late lunch and find his friends before preparing for the evening.

It appeared that Slughorn had noticed the time as well, as he picked himself up from his seat with a groan and made to put the glasses and his wine away. He closed the cabinet beside his desk, but paused just as he made to turn. He stood there, back facing Harry for a moment, his fingers playing with something partially hidden by his sleeve.

"I was given something several days ago, and I have been debating on what I should do with it ever since," Slughorn started, his words coming out slow and carefully. "It was entirely unexpected of course. She was one of my better students over the years, but always surrounded by the wrong sort of people. Her decline of the invitation came as no surprise, especially in these times, but what did catch me off guard was her attaching this to her response," Slughorn turned around, his expression somewhat guarded, with a tiny roll of parchment held in his sausage-like fingers.

He passed it over to Harry without a word, who could immediately feel the expensive vellum under his own fingertips.

"I'm not sure what business she has in writing you, especially given the recent history between your two families, but I figured it best if I passed it on and let you come to your own decision."

Harry nodded in understanding, his fingers playing with the dark ink that sealed the letter. After being assured by Slughorn that he had checked for any curses, Harry cracked open the seal and took a look.

He didn't recognize the writing, as it slowly came into existence on the page in a manner that was eerily similar to Tom Riddle's diary. But he did note, that whoever wrote the letter, had spent hours mastering the use of quill. Their tiny script was immaculate, each letter evenly spaced and proportional to the rest, so much so that one could argue it was a piece of art.

 _Dear Harry James Potter,_

 _It may come to you as a shock to receive a letter from me, but I write to you as a mother and one who grieves the loss of her family. My history is one that is complex and far beyond the understanding of any non-wizard raised. I say this not in insult, but as a way to explain what I am to say next._

 _Sirius Orion Black was my cousin, and as such I loved him. We were never particularly close given our conflicting beliefs on popular issues, but blood tied us together, whether he admitted to it or not. The Black family was never an easy family to live in for anyone, and one that was doomed to collapse. We always toed the line of magic that should never be touched; our blood ran hot with passion and power, and explosive tempers and madness were never too far away. We were destined to be torn apart, and the first war did exactly that. I lost two sisters, a pain that will never go away, one to madness and the other to the one's we fought against._

 _I grieved for Sirius when I learnt of his arrest, to think that the bravest of us all had fallen. I could hear the screams of him and my sister echoing in my dreams, locked up in that Merlin forsaken island that no one should ever be thrown in. I wept in joy upon his escape, knowing he was finally free of thirteen years of torture. And the emotions I carried upon learning from my husband that he was always innocent could never be formulated to words._

 _Thus, I would like to extend my condolences of which I was unable to give upon our last brief meeting. To learn of the role my sister had in the murder of one of her own, broke my heart. The Black family is dead. It died with my cousin Sirius, and that is why I am asking you for aid. Please help save the only family I have left._

 _My son was always an entitled child, something he inherited both from me and his father. Some of his actions to you and your friends over the years have been inexcusable, but beneath it all there lay a sweetness that only a mother could see. He has changed over this past year, especially so since the tragic death of Pansy Parkinson. He may be too far gone, lost in the mess of his parents, but never will I give up on my son. You are the best chance he has, I beg of you, look after my son and save him from himself. Do what his own mother failed to do._

 _My deepest sympathies,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

"I can't believe you got drunk with a professor again!" Needless to say, Hermione was not impressed when he found his friends in the Great Hall later that afternoon. Looking back, he probably shouldn't have mentioned the drinks he had shared with Slughorn.

"Mate, that's bloody incredible!" Judging by the way Ron was keeled over the table, he obviously found some humor in what happened.

"I didn't get drunk," He looked intently at Hermione, hoping that she wouldn't blow this out of proportion. Technically he wasn't drunk, he'd only had a few drinks and they would wear off by the time the party started.

"That's beside the point, it is entirely irresponsible. You aren't even of age yet!" Harry wasn't sure why she was telling him this, when it was Slughorn she should be scolding. He was the one who offered him the wine.

"Oh come on Hermione, my brothers were all sneaking drinks starting back in third year, it's not a big deal," Ron said, but there was something off with his voice. The usual playfulness he reserved for whenever he spoke to her wasn't there, and the glare she sent back lacked its usual affection. What was going on between the two of them?

"Slughorn passed on to me something, and I wanted to show you," Harry spoke up, wanting to move on in their conversation before whatever was brewing between his two friends boiled over. "I'm not really sure what to make of it," he added, as he pulled out the rolled up parchment and passed it into Hermione's waiting hands.

Harry leaned forward on the bench, examining the reactions of his best friends as they read the letter. He could see the initial flickers of confusion in both their eyes as they started. Ron's eyebrows slowly crept higher and higher up his forehead as he worked his way through letter, to the point that they almost reached his hairline. Hermione on the other frowned heavily at the paper, a look that gave away the deep thought she was in over its contents.

"Are you sure this is valid? That it in fact came from… _her_?" she whispered the last part not wanting to be overheard. Harry had already put up the Muffliato charm while they were reading.

"Slughorn was certain it came from her, and I trust him," Harry said with a certainty.

"Do you think she's telling the truth?"

"To an extent," Harry replied. "I know there was no love lost between Sirius and his family. He never talked about Narcissa… in fact he hated talking about any of his family except for Tonks and her mother."

"So she's lying," Ron broke in confidently, his tone indicating that he had known it all along.

Harry shook his head, "I think she's stretching the truth. I don't know if she really loved him or not. The Black family from all that I have heard seemed pretty dysfunctional, but it is possible she held some type of affection for Sirius. I mean… he was some of the last family she had."

"She was kind of right when she said it's hard to understand if you aren't raised magical," Ron spoke up, and continued on despite the glare he received from Hermione, "It's just that muggles look at things a lot differently than we do. For many, blood means a lot, family means a lot, and there's a lot of unspoken rules you don't cross. Dad used to tell us that betraying family of any sort went against magic, and those who did were cursed. And what Bellatrix did… I can see how that might have affected her."

"Muggles care about their family's too you know," Hermione huffed, clearly not pleased by Ron's implications.

"I… I'm not really good with explaining things like that. We're different from a lot of pureblood family's, and I didn't pay too much attention to what we were taught as kids. I have an Aunt Muriel who could do a much better job."

"She sounds desperate," Hermione said, looking back down at the letter she had just read.

"Barmy is more like it," Ron scoffed. "What does she think she's doing asking Harry for help? She's a Malfoy!"

Ron's dislike for everything Malfoy aside, Harry had to agree. Lucius and Draco had done their fair share of things to sully their family name in his eyes.

"I'm less concerned about looking after Malfoy, and more concerned about what this means," Harry paused, looking intently between his friends, "this proves what I've been saying, Malfoy is up to something."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it without a word. She looked torn, her mind fighting over evidence, common sense, and motive. "It doesn't really _prove_ anything," she put a hand up to stop Harry's outburst, "it _suggests_ that there is something wrong in his life. Now that could be caused by a number of things, like his father going to prison, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named starting an open war, or the fact that his girlfriend's mind was essentially destroyed."

"Or it could be because Voldemort gave him a mission, and he's a Death Eater," Harry grumbled.

"Listen… I'm not saying he's a Death Eater or anything, but there's definitely something up with him. First he's sneaking around carrying that silk bag, then all of a sudden Katie almost dies by touching a cursed necklace. I don't think that is a coincidence," Ron checked over his shoulder in the direction of the Slytherin table, but Malfoy wasn't there.

Hermione gasped, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth, "You think Malfoy tried to kill Katie?!"

"It has to be, he's the only suspect that really makes sense. His girlfriend dies, and then he retaliates," Harry said.

"But why Katie?" Hermione questioned, her voice shaky remembering how bad Katie had looked in the Hospital Wing.

"I don't think he really cared who it was, the git," Ron snarled in a manner that resembled a wild beast, "But she's a Gryffindor, played Quidditch against him, and is a member of the D.A., that's enough reason I would guess."

"And Mrs. Malfoy wants you to… help him?" Hermione both uncertain and perplexed by the idea.

"I say he deserves Azkaban for what he did. Maybe he can share a cell with his daddy," Ron spat.

"What does she mean by you being his best chance?" Hermione looked to Harry.

"It's a trap mate, I'm telling you. I bet You-Know-Who put her up to this so he could get to you somehow. She might have cared about Sirius because he was family, but she doesn't care about you," Ron gripped him on the shoulder, his large blue eyes filled with rage and fear for his best friend.

"But what if she's just a scared mother who wants to protect her son?" He could hear the hope in her voice, looking for the best in people. It was something Harry greatly admired about Hermione.

"Bugger that, nothing good has ever come from the Malfoy family."

"It doesn't really matter now," Harry finally broke in, "we're leaving the castle for the holidays after tonight. How about we ask your dad, Ron, and see what he thinks, maybe even Mad-Eye or Kingsley as well."

Ron and Hermione seemed to like that idea, and both nodded in acceptance.

"And if you ask me, finding out what Malfoy is up to is more important than saving him," Harry added.

The three of them quickly moved to much more pleasant topics of discussion for the next hour or so, as they ate a fairly late lunch. The normal easy going dynamic that they had formed over years of friendship and countless adventures returned, but despite this, Harry could still detect a slight tension between Ron and Hermione.

After casting a quick tempus charm, Hermione jolted to attention and a slight grimace crossed her face, "I'm going to have to leave now to get ready," she said while packing up a stack of loose papers into her bag.

"So early?" Harry knew it was still a good four hours before the party began. Slughorn had told him the doors were set to open after seven, and Daphne had asked him to meet her in the main hall at eight.

"It takes me… a while to get ready," she replied, unconsciously playing with her frizzy hair. "A lot of important people from the Ministry will be there tonight, and I want to make a good impression."

"Okay, I guess I should probably shower sometime soon as well." Maybe he could even get his hair to cooperate a little tonight, but that was never a certainty. "You going to come up Ron?"

"Actually," Ron's eyes darted down the hall to both ends of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, "I'm not going to Slughorn's party," he said much to Harry's disbelief.

He remembered earlier in the year Ron's disappointment at never being invited to the Slug Club; and to hear him now say he wasn't attending arguably the biggest event, without a trace of resentment in his voice was shocking. Wasn't he going with Hermione?

"Apparently each year Ravenclaw hosts a broom race around the grounds on the last day of term for NEWT students. Think I might have a chance of winning since you won't be there, you don't mind if I borrow your Firebolt do you?" Ron pumped his fist in an over exaggerated celebration when Harry agreed. "There's an after party as well," Ron grinned. "I guess I'll see you two on the train then," Ron waved as he made his way to a collection of upper year students from different houses.

Harry was fairly jealous of Ron in that moment, a broom race and a student party sounded a lot more fun than what he had scheduled for this evening. "I'm just letting you know, that if you win, I'm taking credit for the broom," Harry called out after his retreating from, who shot him a rude hand gesture in return.

Laughing at his friends' antics, Harry slowly turned before noticing Hermione's silence. She stood with her arms crossed across her chest, staring after their redheaded friend. He wasn't sure what was going through her mind, but whatever it was, it was enough to distract her from his attention.

"What's wrong?" Harry had to repeat himself twice before she realized he was speaking to her.

"Nothing," she said too quickly, a flash of hurt was on her face.

"You're not taking him?" Harry gestured in the direction Ron had headed off in.

"I… he… I'm going with Cormac," she couldn't meet his eyes as she spoke.

If Harry had been drinking water, he was certain he would have spat it across the entire hall. "What!? What are you doing taking that prat? Didn't you see him at the Quidditch tryouts, or the way he acts in the common room?" Harry was lost. What was Hermione thinking?

"I wasn't thinking okay!" Hermione pleaded, answering the question Harry had in his mind. "I panicked. I didn't know what to do, I wanted to ask Ron… but…" it seemed as if all the strength had left Hermione's body in that moment. She slumped down on the bench, her face disappearing behind her hands.

Harry moved to sit beside her.

"Have you not noticed how Ron isn't around as much? He's always with Ravenclaws or people from the D.A.," Harry wrapped his arm around her, hearing the tears in her voice, "I thought that maybe we would… that he… it was foolish," she sounded miserable. "I asked McLaggen because I thought it would get his attention."

Her shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs. Harry tried his best to soothe her with quiet words, but they seemed to have no effect.

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him with her watery brown eyes, "It hasn't been the same this year," she sounded so small in that moment, like the little girl trapped in a bathroom with a troll. "Everything is falling apart, nothing is like how I thought it would be…"

Harry was lost for words. How had he missed all of this? Had he been neglecting his friends to such an extent? Quickly searching his memory, Harry couldn't find any traces of the problems Hermione was talking about. In truth, he hadn't noticed Ron's new expansion of friends, or Hermione's troubles. The growing rift between Ron and Hermione went by completely unnoticed. It had just been this summer that he thought the two of them would get together, and now…

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but closed it quickly as if thinking better of it. That caught Harry's attention. Hermione was one to rarely hold back her words, especially when it came to him.

"You've been distant, Harry, I miss you," she said instead.

It was true. Ever since attending Hogwarts for his first year, he had spent almost every waking moment with either Ron and Hermione. The three of them were inseparable. Sure, they each had their own friends and troubles, but nothing was kept secret between them. Things had started to change starting fourth year, with the Triwizard Tournament and visions of Voldemort. Fifth year was even worse, with Umbridge ruling the castle and the torture he had to endure with Voldemort playing with his mind.

But none of that could compare to the reveal of the prophecy. Trelawney's words changed everything. It was the start of his new life. The prophecy was his to bear; an invaluable weapon that kept Voldemort in check and stayed his hand. Its contents were too valuable to let slip. Dumbledore's lessons were more important than anything else in his life at the moment. Like a sponge he sucked up as much wisdom as he could from a man who knew the cost of war better than anyone else. He could feel that the lessons were building to something monumental, something directly linked to Voldemort's downfall. The secrets he held weighed heavily upon his soul, crushing his very being with their power and importance, but for the sake of victory he endured.

There was so much he wanted to tell his friends, to ease their worries and mend the fractured relationship he had caused with his secrecy, but he couldn't.

"I'm sorry." It was all he could say.

* * *

For about the thousandth time since exiting the common room, Harry found himself scratching and tugging at a spot just underneath his left arm where a bothersome seam was digging into his skin.

The material of his dress robes was a fine silk that had cost him a fair few galleons when he had owl ordered the outfit. The color was a black so deep that it could only have been augmented by expertly woven enchantments. Depending on the light, the silk would flicker between purple, blue, and green. He was happy with what he had picked out.

Given the rushed nature of his last minute order, he was unable to receive robes that were tailored to his exact specifications. Instead, he was forced to order robes that were slightly too large. With Dean's help, he managed to fit the material quite well to his frame. Ginny's boyfriend was especially talented at subtle charms of that nature, and Harry figured it had something to do with his artistic background.

But, the boy was not a tailor, as such there were imperfections like the one currently pinching his skin.

Finally getting to the right spot, Harry let out a sigh of relief as he stepped down the staircase that led to the main entryway to the Great Hall.

The school was vacant, with most students throwing together some last minute packing before enjoying an evening to themselves. The only students Harry had happened across were the few making their way to Slughorn's party or the upper year students heading out to whatever party Ron was attending.

Standing near one of the decorative fountains that are put out every year for Christmas at Hogwarts, Harry quickly checked the time to see that it was eight o'clock. Just as he stowed his wand away, he heard the distinct sound of heels on stone.

Looking up across at the opposite stairs to which he came down, Harry could scarce believe his eyes.

Daphne looked phenomenal. The dress, or robes, or whatever it was called that she wore looked enchanting. The color of the fabric shone like a jewel, and matched the shade of her eyes, it stretched over one of her pale shoulders down her body, leaving the other one bare.

She smiled at him a genuine smile that left his throat dry.

"You're hear on time," she raised an eyebrow at him. Harry noticed that she only wore a touch of makeup, while the scent of peaches tickled his nose pleasantly.

"And we are already late," Harry noted with a smirk much to her amusement. "I didn't know purebloods allowed showing up fashionably late."

"I wouldn't expect a halfblood like yourself to understand," she teased back, "Sometimes it's best to make an entrance."

Her confidence was almost intoxicating. However, he did notice a small crease in her forehead as her eyes quickly flickered to his empty hands.

Taking a deep breath, and centering himself, Harry tried to push away the nervous energy building in his body. Her reached into the pocket of his robes and removed his holly wand, he noticed how the look in Daphne's eyes shifted from one of disappointment to intrigue.

He tried to remember Dumbledore's exact words as he had coached him, but immediately gave up knowing that tips and tricks were nothing in the face of a person's individual spirit.

He remembered back in first year when he stayed over at the castle for the holidays, his awe at the decorations that made the castle so festive and brought alive the magic of the holidays. He remembered seeing the sculpted fountains for the first time and thinking they were the most wonderful thing in the world.

Floating before him was a massive chunk of ice carved into the shape of the most complex snowflake he had ever seen. From each of its six arms water of different colors shot out, dancing like ribbons in the wind, forming patterns that could leave a weak minded individual entranced forever.

With a gentle swish of his wand, he took command of its multicolored streams. Like the conductor of an orchestra, he led the ensemble, directing them with a mastery that created art before his very eyes. Each member knew its part, and under his guidance they moved without hesitation.

Reds and blues and greens and silvers, all intertwined with one another. They slithered along each other like a rainbow of snakes or a thicket of devil's snare, but much more pure and ethereal than either could hope to be. A gentle mist was released from each canal, shrouding its beauty.

When Dumbledore had first introduced the topic of elemental transfiguration to Harry weeks ago, he thought he'd be taught a simple incantation for a cute trick he could use on Daphne. Instead, they had delved much deeper.

It had been nearly an entire evening and morning, of lecture and experimentation. Playing with nature, and twisting the properties of the world around them, tapping into its innate magic that give it life. Elemental transfiguration was not turning a matchstick into a needle or a porcupine into a pincushion, it was a manipulation of the foundation of earth itself. It was not switching between animate and inanimate, but taking the building blocks of life and using them to accomplish feats beyond imagination. Whether it be the most delicate of tasks or something earth shattering in nature, there was no truer way to wield such power than with what came before us and what will most certainly remain after us.

Like the blood in his veins, he could feel the magic of the water flowing across his skin as it followed the waves of his wand. Coalescing with a final spin, the colored lines joined into one, refracting the light like a diamond.

With precise brushes, the mass of water streamed through the air before attaching itself to the base of Daphne's wrist. The Slytherin girl was frozen in place, both her mouth and her eyes wide open, dumbfounded at what was happening before her. Like a vine, it wrapped and weaved across the tender skin of her forearm, branching out and blooming into an arrangement of lilies and roses and orchids, with more color than what seemed natural.

The spell had ended, but the silence between the two remained.

"How?" That seemed to be the only word Daphne could form, her blue eyes staring into what felt like Harry's soul.

"Just a little trick I picked up," Harry didn't know where the boldness of his words came from, but he ran with it. "It won't die… in case you were wondering," he added.

"Why is that?" It was an improvement upon last time, but it appeared that she was still partially stunned.

"Water gives life, it refreshes, it's a cycle that is untouched by age or time. Those properties have been transferred to its current form," he explained, much to Daphne's growing interest. "It's a lot easier to do with water than any other element. Water on its own is neutral, serene, and can flow in any which way. Whereas fire has an insatiable hunger and burning passion, or earth is limited by its rigidity and need for structure.

"That's actually quite fascinating," she stated as Harry took her arm and started them on their way to the party. "To think people thought you were actually stupid until the Triwizard Tournament," she remarked earning a laugh from Harry.

Harry paused their movement upon approaching the staircase. "Do you want to take the staircase? Because I know some passages we could take instead." Ever since the incident with Luna a few weeks back, Harry had completely avoided the moving staircases.

"Why? Trying to get me alone in a dark passageway?"

Harry blushed at the thought, his hand moving to the same irritating seam as before. "No, nothing like that. It's just that the stairs have been a bit… _wonky_ as of late and I could do with a little less excitement in my life."

"I figured, Harry," she laughed gently, the sound was pleasant to his ears, "you aren't the type to take advantage of a woman in a tightly enclosed space."

"Think of it as the Harry Potter exclusive tour of Hogwarts. They prove pretty useful in getting to class on time."

"Only because you're unable to properly plan."

The quick banter between the two of them bounced back and forth as they navigated through Hogwarts' secrets. Despite Daphne's best attempts to hide it, Harry could tell she was impressed. With each passing false wall, disappearing tapestry, and whispered word to activate a moving portrait or statue, her excitement grew like a small child about to receive their favorite treat.

"Are you sure that wasn't him, I couldn't understand a word he was saying," Harry remarked as they finally moved past a stubborn portrait that took a lot of convincing to move out of their way.

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure that was him. The former caretaker before Filch. He was a stickler for rules and guarded the castle like it was his own child, I remember grandfather speaking about him once, it's why he wouldn't let us past him."

"Until I threated to blow him to pieces so small they couldn't put him back together."

"Yes, until you did that," she giggled.

"He _must_ have been speaking backwards, nothing he said made any sense," he spoke a little too loudly, his body overrun with amusement.

"No, that was Gobbledegook, the only language he was able to communicate in, which was why none of the students back then ever understood what he was saying. You're thinking of Jorpus the Jumbled, the wizard who tried to make a translation spell but ended up making himself only speak backwards for the rest of his life. He's down by the third floor if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, now that I think about it, he did sound a little bit throaty. How do you know so much about these paintings anyway?" He was impressed, most students hardly payed attention to what was around them, having become desensitized to it all over the years. But Harry found that elements of the castle itself, whether they be statues, paintings, or suits of armour, could provide endless amounts of entertainment.

"My family has always been very interested in art. I guess some of it has rubbed off over the years," she shrugged, pulling him along the final corridor leading to the party. The buzz of conversation and the sound of alcohol infused laughter could be heard upon their approach.

Harry took a dramatically deep breath, to which Daphne elbowed him sharply in the side, "Suck it up, it won't be that bad."

"I am just going to let you know that if anyone asks me to kiss their baby or sign their wife's breasts, I'm leaving."

With a snort, Daphne nudged him into the room.

If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought he had walked into Fred and George's shop. Not in a bad way, given the outlandishly expensive decorations that were arranged around the room, but in the general chaos and absurdity that surrounded him. Fairies fluttered around the room providing moving light, with the occasional pixie jumping in trying to disrupt their pattern of flight. Witches of wizards of all ages filled the room, wearing outfits the ranged from a collection of tapestries wrapped around their body in a manner similar to a mummy, to a dress shaped like a chandelier that changed color based on the mood of those around it. The sound of a string quartet could be heard somewhere further down the hall, and Harry was forced to jump and pull Daphne away from a woman who decided to bring nine of her Kneazles.

"Harry my boy, I'm glad to see you! Yes, you to Miss Greengrass, don't you look marvelous. Such a spiffing pair the two of you make!" Slughorn came bouncing towards the two of the, glass in hand.

"Thank you again for the invitation, sir. It looks to be an interesting evening," Harry looked around at the odd assortment of characters.

"Yes, yes, well I find that it is best to add a hint of spice wherever possible, especially given how dry some of the Ministry personnel can be at times," he took a big gulp from his glass, and then placed the now empty vessel on a silver tray that floated past them. "I will leave you two to it then, but I won't be too far away in case you need me," he finished with a wink, turning to call after a wizard dressed all in pink. Harry had a feeling he wouldn't see Slughorn again for the rest of the night.

It was after his departure that the fun really started, or at least for Daphne it did. She pulled Harry along to various important looking people she wanted to speak to, speaking for the both of them after her targets tried to make conversation with him. It was a monotonous cycle that felt like it had been going on forever, the names and positions of the people he had met were long forgotten.

After a while he had resorted to one word answers, sharp nods, and grunts to communicate. He found much more enjoyment in watching the room around him. For example, there was an amusing game of cat and mouse going on between Cormac and Hermione, as she did her best to evade her date while simultaneously try and talk to as many people as she possibly could. Dean and Ginny were standing near the performers looking to be in the middle of one of their bi-weekly rows. Just off to the side was Blaise with a rather voluptuous seventh year Hufflepuff, eyeing the arguing couple like a hawk. Apparently, Blaise hadn't given up on his quest for Ron's sister.

There was an old woman with more wrinkles than a raisin who kept shooting him glances. Before Harry could discern whether it was his imagination, or if he should feel deeply uncomfortable with the frequency she looked at him, a tug on his arm brought his attention back to Daphne.

Standing in front of them now, replacing the two portly wizards Daphne had been engaging with before, was a stout man with horn-rimmed glasses and another who looked more beautiful than handsome, with the features of his face almost razor sharp, skin so pale it was translucent, and pits for eyes. There was no mistaking who these two were.

"Mr. Worple isn't it? Professor Slughorn told me about you and your companion," Harry shook both their hands, the vampire's grip being noticeably stronger with much less effort.

"Harry Potter, I am honored! And to know the Horace has been putting in a good word for me as well, I can only thank him enough next time I see him," the man was a ball of excitement, nearly vibrating on the spot. "My companion for this evening, Sanguini," he gestured to the unmistakable vampire beside him.

"And mine, Daphne Greengrass," he introduced his date.

Daphne looked just as uncomfortable as Harry felt in front of Sanguini, and quickly turned away from his soul sucking gaze.

"Ah, a Greengrass, I've had some dealings with your family over some of my publications," he said, before quickly turning to Harry with a calculating look behind his lenses, "Speaking of books, I have always wondered when yours would come out."

"Mine?" Harry said with trepidation, knowing where the conversation was headed.

"Why yes of course! The biography of Harry Potter. I find myself asking this question every day, 'When will the world know your story?' Wasn't I telling you this earlier Sanguini?" he turned towards the vampire for support, but Sanguini paid him no mind, his eyes fixed solely on Harry. "No matter, Sanguini loses himself at times, no doubt a by-product of living so long. I'll tell you what, if you set aside a few afternoons for me I would be delighted to write your story for you. It would be done quicker than you would think, and the galleons we would make..."

Sensing his discomfort Daphne swooped in to the rescue not for the first time this evening, "Mr. Worple, pardon my interrupting, but you spoke about doing business with my family. I would love if you could tell me more about that," she played the role to perfection, every word sounded genuine despite the opposite being true.

Worple fell for the deception and quickly started nattering away.

"We were fated to meet Mr. Potter," Sanguini spoke for the first time, and Harry very much wished he hadn't. His voice was like fresh steel, both sharp and smooth with an underlying danger that sent a shiver up Harry's spine.

"I guess you could say so," Harry decided to just go along with it and try to make conversation, "I heard that Mr. Worple encountered you near the Black Forest."

"He did not encounter me, I sought him out. But yes, that is where my kind finds its home."

"Oh, that's interesting. Why were you looking for him?" Harry really wished he had taken up Luna's offer and bought some of her father's garlic jewelry.

"The shadows spoke that we were fated to meet. Worple was merely a vessel to which fate used to bring us together."

"Er," Harry was extremely perturbed, to the point he was wishing that he was still speaking to Worple. "So you're a seer?"

With quicker reflexes than Harry could ever dream of having, Sanguini's arm snapped into motion. Had he gone for Harry's neck, he undoubtedly would be dead. Instead, resting in Sanguini's corpse-like hand was a rat, his razor sharp fangs sunk deeply into the squealing animal's innards as he greedily drank its blood.

Harry was speechless and deeply disturbed, and looking around to Daphne and the crowd beside him, he appeared to be the only one to have seen this.

The vampire looked directly at him, while its tongue looped around its lips, lapping up stray droplets of blood.

"Seers are for those with the eye, and the living ones we feast upon. In my state of eternal existence, we see differently, the plane of shadows extends beyond that of the eye."

It made some sense to Harry, if centaurs could read the stars, then why couldn't vampires speak to shadows. He found himself slowly growing to hate all types of diviners.

"You will encounter my kind again. It would do you good to remember that hunger drives us and we devour those who don't seek to join us. We live in the night, and you best pray that morning comes quick," he finished with a show of his fangs, before turning back to his companion with a blank look on his face as if nothing had come to pass.

He must have looked quite the sight, because when Daphne turned to speak to him she immediately gripped his arm and led him over to get a drink, "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing… it's just that, uh, I really don't like vampires." It might have sounded like a gross generalization, but Harry was firm in his belief.

"I don't blame you," she said as she scooped out a foaming green punch from the largest cauldron he had ever seen, "they are awful creatures. The best decision the Ministry ever made was getting rid of them."

Harry took a sip and nearly choked on the strength of the alcohol in the drink. His throat was burning, and not in the intentional way that it was meant to like with fire whiskey.

The two of them shared a glance before simultaneously pouring the horrendous beverage back into the communal cauldron and placed their empty glasses on the first flying dish that passed them. They managed to hold themselves together for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness!" Hermione came bursting in between them just as they were starting to compose themselves, some strands of her bushy brown hair starting to escape the prison she had them trapped in with mounds of Sleekeazy. "The mistletoe… he- never mind I managed to get away just in time- Oh, hello Greengrass," Hermione started to rattle off incoherently, "What is she doing here?"

"We actually came togeth-"

"Why did I decide to take him? He's so touchy, and everything he says is just so completely inappropriate," she continued on without pause, cutting Harry off.

Hermione's eyes quickly fell upon the great foaming cauldron, and she reached to pour herself a glass.

"No!" Harry and Daphne shouted together in horror.

"Why?" Hermione looked at them perplexed, a full glass in one hand.

"Unless you wish to die..." Daphne indicated to the vile concoction in her hand.

"In that case," Hermione quickly filled another glass and downed both of them in an action far beyond anything Harry would have thought Hermione to ever be able to accomplish. In fact, any Quidditch Captain worth their salt would have been proud of a move like that. It seemed she still wasn't done as well, quickly filling two more before scurrying away into a crowd of thickset wizard arguing over the current British and Irish Quidditch League season.

"Ah, Harry, you see Hermione around?" Cormac suddenly asked from behind Harry's shoulder, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

"Uh, no…" Harry wasn't entirely sure how much Cormac had seen in his approach, and didn't want to get caught in a lie.

"Funny, I thought I had spotted her," he scratched his blonde hair in confusion, eyes roaming the sea of guests.

"Well, er, she was here… but she had to leave to do, uh… womanly things," Harry managed to force out what was possibly the lamest excuse he had ever come up with.

"Womanly things?" A disgusted look that only boys could make when confronted with female hygiene filled his handsome face, before morphing into something that could only be described as unashamedly lecherous.

Harry only noticed his fatal mistake when it was already too late.

"Well then, maybe I'll stop by and help her out with a serving of the McLaggen Special," Harry was forced to close his eyes to prevent himself from retching. The combination of Cormac's illustrative gestures, his face, and tone of voice was too much for him to handle.

"Cormac," Harry heard Daphne call out, there was something dangerous in her voice as she spoke, "I saw your Aunt Drezela across the room earlier, she was telling me how much she misses her 'little Mac' and wanted me to let her know if I saw you."

Something miraculous happened in that moment, in less than a second Cormac transformed from his pompous perverted self into a frightened little boy. "You didn't see me," he squeaked before scampering off with his tail tucked between his legs.

"Womanly things?" Daphne turned to Harry, arms crossed and foot tapping on the ground.

"Admittedly, not my best work," Harry flushed, his hand traveling from his head to the itch under his arm. "I don't remember meeting an Aunt Drezela," Harry remarked as the pair of them sifted through the throngs.

"We never did," she replied simply.

"Then how?"

"Purebloods like to gossip." And that was the only answer he required.

As they entered a small clearing in what would eventually become a dance floor, Harry spotted a familiar figure surrounded by hordes of people. Gwenog shot him a wink, indicating she saw him as well.

"Is there a reason that old lady keeps on staring at you?" Daphne spoke up from his side, her eyes directed at the woman he had noticed earlier. She was standing just beyond Gwenog, partially hidden by a heavy curtain that hung from the wall.

Before he could respond, Gwenog managed to detach herself from her fans and made her way towards him.

"Harry Potter, Slughorn mentioned you would be here, I'm glad he wasn't emptily boasting. A pleasure, Gwenog Jones," she introduced herself, keeping up the appearance that they had never met before.

Harry and Daphne replied in kind.

"I'm sorry to steal away such a good looking date," Gwenog looked over to Daphne with sympathy in her eyes, "but I need to talk to Harry here alone. Confidential Quidditch stuff, a load of nonsense if you ask me, but I don't make the rules I just play the game."

Daphne didn't look the least bit pleased with this development, but there wasn't much she could do. "I'll be back right away," her eyes never left Gwenog's, who met her stare head-on, "I'll grab us some of the food Slughorn put out," she left rather sharply without another word.

"You've got yourself a feisty one there, and a Slytherin too," she grinned while pulling Harry into a tight embrace and a kiss on the cheek. "I was at your last match, you were impressive, just don't get cocky because catching the snitch gets infinitely harder when you hit pro."

"Thanks, but the team has been playing surprisingly well with so many new pieces, and Katie was doing a fantastic job."

"Still just as humble, I see. Who's the captain now?" It seemed that news of what happened to Katie reached Gwenog, which wasn't surprising. The school and the Ministry did their best to keep what happened to Pansy and Katie quiet, but word still managed to find a way to spread.

"We actually haven't decided on that yet," Harry replied honestly, their next game wasn't until after the holidays so the team hadn't seen the need to do it immediately.

"You should take it," she said, quickly continuing before he interrupted, "only until Bell comes back just to get a taste of what it is like," she pulled him into a quiet corner before throwing up a secrecy charm, "Before we get into some of the more serious stuff, has my sister talked to you recently?"

Harry was caught slightly off guard with the question, "I haven't really seen her since the accident." It was something Harry didn't like thinking about, but Megan had essentially vanished since Katie was cursed. He felt as if he was close with Megan, and her shutting herself off and hiding from the world hurt him more than he'd like to admit.

There was sadness and disappointment in Gwenog's eyes, "Megan has had a really tough time since the incident. She's locked up in her dorm most days and tries to do the homework the professor's bring to her, but she has really fallen off. I know why, and everything would make more sense if you knew too, but it isn't my place to tell. Whenever she is ready… just listen to what she has to say, it's something she has been struggling with for a while now."

Harry nodded in compliance. He cared for Megan, and would give her as much time as she needed.

"Now on to the juicy stuff," she sucked in a large amount of air as if preparing for something big, "Every year the leagues around Europe hold a big elitist party for captains, owners, league officials, and international dignitaries. They're usually a bore, and I only go for the free food. But this year, as I was working the room I came across something interesting."

"There was a crowd of members of the ICW who were talking about the situation in Britain, which was what initially caught my attention. They were talking about You-Know-Who and how it was inevitable that the Ministry would fall. Apparently governments on the continent are securing their borders and severely limiting trade and transportation with us. Foreign diplomats, ICW employees and their agents are all under strict orders to leave before the situation gets too dire."

"They're shutting us off to fight on our own. They're abandoning us!" Harry was furious.

"They seem to think they have a better chance fighting together as collective when the situation is clearer, as opposed to the muddled mess it is right now," Gwenog reasoned. "I'm sorry that it wasn't good news, but it's all I have," she rested her hand gently on his shoulder.

"It's fine," Harry sighed, "I appreciate it a lot."

"I think I've spent just a little too much time with you, I don't want the papers saying that I tried to seduce a minor even if it's one as cute as you," she said as she reached up and squeezed his check, "You're a good kid, Harry, I hope when all of this is done I'll be playing against you on the pitch," she gave him a gentler hug than the first one, and moved off to mingle amongst the party.

Harry stood there in silence following her departure, an island of peace amidst the much too stuffy room. Looking about now, Harry couldn't spot Hermione and it appeared as if Cormac had given up on the chase, if the group of middle age witches he was trying to chat up were anything to go by. Ginny and Dean looked to have reconciled, and in defeat Blaise took to snogging the life out of his Hufflepuff date behind the bar. Daphne was nowhere to be found as well. He absentmindedly wondered how much time had passed since his arrival.

"Wotcher Harry!"

He nearly jumped out of his skin, turning around he came face to face with the old woman from earlier. Except, before his very eyes, her wrinkly skin began roll and twist and tighten into something much more youthful looking. The bones of her face rearranged themselves, her chin widening, and her entire stooped frame shooting up half a foot and straightening. In a matter of seconds, Tonks stood before him with purple hair that rested just above her shoulders.

"Bloody hell Tonks, that was you the whole time?" Harry was relieved the situation wasn't as creepy as he initially thought it to be, but was annoyed at how Tonks abused her powers simply to mess with him.

"Come on Harry, are you telling me there aren't any Cougars apart of your fan club," Tonks whooped in her own amusement.

"Don't go giving Tonks the credit for that one, Harry. It was my idea," Auror Fardale came in marching from the side wearing what looked to be the dress robe version of the Auror uniform.

"It was a team effort Heath, you couldn't have done it without me," she flickered the color of her hair illustrating her point.

"Best team in all the department! Stroke of good fortune that we got put together if you ask me."

"I think I can work out why pretty easily," Harry said dryly, looking at the two Aurors who were still caught up in their own joke.

"What happened to that good looking witch you had on your arm earlier? She's different from the last one I saw you with. You must work pretty fast," he wrapped Harry around the shoulder and mussed his hair.

"She went to go grab food," Harry responded while trying to disentangle himself from the larger man.

"Oh, well we've tried the lot and most of it is pretty good if not a bit posh for my liking. I'd stay away from the Welsh Green meatballs; they give awfully bad breath. Me and Tonks have been pawning them off on whoever we can just to see people's reactions when they talk."

"That woman with all the Kneazles had a couple of them faint after eating a handful," Tonks snorted.

"I figure you two are here for actual work?" Harry said, trying his best not laugh along with Tonks.

"Yeah… vampire duty. The bloke Worple seems to have it pretty well in hand though. Just look, whenever the Vampire starts looking shifty he gives him a pastry," Fardale pointed to where Worple and Sanguini were standing across the room, the latter holding a roll in each hand.

"It's fairly boring stuff, we have to keep ourselves entertained somehow," Tonks chimed in. "You see the chandelier woman?" she asked, to which Harry nodded. "Well, earlier I tried synchronizing my hair with her dress. I had to stop after a while though, it was changing too much and I was getting light headed."

Harry could only shake his head at her. If there was any doubt she was related to Sirius, he would just have to look back at this conversation.

"I've heard word from the students around here that apparently tonight is the annual NEWT broom race," Tonks looked at him with unrestrained glee in her eyes. It did not take much to work out that she likely had prior experience in said event.

"Yeah, Ron actually competed tonight with my Firebolt," Fardale's nearly bugged out of his head upon hearing the name of his broom.

"His brother Charlie actually won the only year I competed in, he probably could have lapped all of us, we had no chance. It was also the last year they used the Owlery as an obstacle. A kid called Brian Copper crashed into it and was coughing up feathers for weeks afterwards. He works at the Ministry now in the Department of Magical Transportation, and people still call him Birdo to this day."

"Huh, I always wondered why people called him that," Fardale spoke up from the side.

"Fardale! Tonks! What the bloody hell are you two doing!" the stern shouting from a physically imposing figure assaulted their ears.

"Did you know Harry Potter is at this party, Conner?" Tonks put on the most stereotypically girly voice Harry had ever heard, "I just couldn't pass up the opportunity of meeting him," she gushed.

It was only then that Auror Conner noticed Harry's presence, too focused on stomping over towards the two aurors who were enjoying the party more than their work. "Good evening, Potter," his hard face and dark eyes betrayed nothing as he spoke.

"Evening, sir, it's been a while," he extended his hand for a polite shake.

"Yes, it has," he drawled slowly, before flicking his eyes to his two partners, "Why may I ask have you two been chatting up Harry Potter, and not maintaining watch over our target. In case you have forgotten, he is a Vampire."

"Yeah, and the only way you would ever find yourself in any danger with that one was if you were flaky, and sweet, and full of fruit or cream," Tonks shot back.

Harry wasn't entirely sure about that. Despite whatever performance Sanguini put on with the pastry's in his hands, the vampire was much more sinister than he let on. He could still smell the fresh blood on his lips and tongue as he spoke of devouring others. It had taken Harry no more then a minute to realize just how dangerous Vampires are. A cold chill settled down his spine remembering his prophetic words.

"Listen Reg, we grew up with the stories about vampires and learnt all about them in training. We know how dangerous they can be. But for whatever reason, that one there is tame and is less likely to cause trouble than half of the drunken oafs in here. Besides, as much of a beast as he is, he would have to be the biggest idiot I've ever seen to attack someone here of all places," Fardale explained.

"And that's not a risk I'm willing to take, you should know better than to settle on assumptions," surprisingly enough Tonks and Fardale did look contrite. "Worple and the vampire are scheduled to leave, we need to escort them back to the Ministry now. I don't suppose the two of you will have any trouble handling him if he is as harmless as you say he is," there was a bit of bite to Conner's words.

"There's the sense of humour the office loves so much," Fardale clapped him on the back, "Come on Tonks we need to get rid of him before all the pastries are gone. See you, Harry," he called over his shoulder, followed by Tonks, as the two of them made their way to Worple and Sanguini.

Conner simply grunted as he stood in front of Harry not moving. "Sometimes I wonder why so much talent is stuck in the heads of immature fools," Harry assumed he spoke to himself, he wasn't fully sure. "You leaving the school for the holidays?" this time he did turn to Harry, his arms folded across his chest.

"Yes," Harry was unsure as to where the conversation was headed.

"The Minister mentioned wanting to speak with you. I'd expect a meeting with him sometime soon," he turned and slowly marched his way to the rest of his team.

It was in a bit of a daze that Harry sifted through the party, his mind awhirl with everything that had transpired this evening. He desperately needed a seat, and a drink, but unfortunately only the latter was available. Perhaps joining Ron for the evening would have been better than this. He could hear his name being shouted around him, but he had long ago lost the patience for pointless conversation, ignoring each call and touch for his attention.

The party had dragged on long enough in his opinion. He felt it was an appropriate time for him to depart. Daphne might not have agreed with him on that, and he felt bad for what he was doing to her, but she wasn't here to stop him. The room was swirling around him as he tried to make for the exit, fighting through the nauseating pull of the party.

Just as he reached for the door, it flew upon, nearly knocking him to the floor. Marching in with a triumphant smile on his face was Filch, holding a squirming Malfoy by the scruff of his neck. He could see the two of them arguing with one another, but he couldn't make out the exact words over the din of the party. Before Filch could accomplish whatever it was he set out to do, Professor Snape came swooping in out of nowhere on top of the two.

In a matter of seconds, Filch's expression went from one of victory to one of defeat as he shuffled back out of the room.

Malfoy and Snape remained behind locked in a heated argument. Over suspicion of what was being disputed Harry slipped closer, but still he couldn't distinguish what was being said. He could only see the furious expression on Snape's face and Malfoy's uncharacteristically nervous demeanor. In fact, Harry noted that Malfoy looked terrible, completely dishevelled, bags and wrinkles surrounding his eyes, and a sickly yellow tint to his skin.

With a sudden jerk, Snape pulled Malfoy into the hall and disappeared into the darkness of the exiting corridor.

Without a second thought, Harry reached into his pocket and moved to follow them.

"Harry…?" a confused sounding voice stopped him in his tracks. Swivelling on the spot, Harry was met with the sight of Daphne standing a good ten feet away with two plates of food in her hands. She looked just as beautiful as she did when he saw her on the stairs, but now her face was filled with hurt and insecurity.

He knew exactly what it must have looked like, and he hated the thought of abandoning Daphne, especially with her standing directly in front of him. But time was of the essence, with every second that passed Malfoy and Snape were further away, and it became increasingly likely that he would miss what they were saying.

He was stuck between staying for Daphne or leaving for Malfoy and Snape. It was a decision he had to make in that moment, and of course, being Harry, he made neither of them.

"Come on!" he shouted as he rushed forward and grabbed her by the arm, causing her to drop the two plates she was holding. The loud shatter must have garnered some attention, but Harry's back was to the crowd and there was something more important he was after.

"Har- Potter. What are you doing." Her voice was a harsh whisper against his ear, as he pulled her down the hall, the sound of Slughorn's party slowly dying away behind them.

Checking against each classroom they came upon and looking down the various hallways they passed, there was no sign of Snape or Malfoy. Cursing under his breath, Harry pulled his cloak out of his pocket and threw it over the two of them. The sound of the party no longer masked their footsteps, and the last thing Harry wanted was to get caught.

"What in Merlin's name-" her remark was cut off by a sharp sucking in of air. "Where did you get this?" Her blue eyes were alight with wonder as she took in the cloak that surrounded them.

"Family heirloom," Harry replied dismissively, as he reached further into the same pocket and pulled out a large piece of parchment. With just a few words and a quick search, Harry found the footsteps of both Malfoy and Snape step into a classroom at the end of a hallway to their left.

"What is tha-"

"Family heirloom," he repeated himself, not noticing the glint of annoyance in Daphne's eye, "now _shhhh,_ " he shushed the girl as they approached the room.

"- would you have told them had I not reached Filch in time," Snape's cold, harsh voice came from the end of the Extendable Ear he had thrown at the crack under the door.

"I would have been fine. I was going to say that I had tried to gate crash the party."

"Dressed in your pajamas… yes, I'm sure that would have been perfectly believable," Snape mocked in his low tone. For the first time ever, Harry found it less infuriating and more entertaining. It was amazing how that tended to happen when the mockery wasn't directed at him.

"They wouldn't have cared either way! Let them laugh, they won't be doing it for long," he sounded petulant.

"You were sloppy Draco, you let a squib catch you out in the halls. You cannot afford to make any mistakes. Let me help you." the man punctuated each of the last words.

"I don't need your help!" it was a helpless screech, the sound of someone at the end of their rope, "I'm doing what needs to be done - I'm making progress, I just need some more time."

"Your work has not been clean. If you are suspected – If you are expelled," Snape's voice sounded almost fearful.

"Suspected? I had nothing to do with that, there's no proof. She must have said or done something to someone else. There's plenty of people who could have gotten their hands on a necklace like that."

"All of this could be avoided if you simply let me aid you. I have the backing and support of the headmaster; no questions would be asked."

"And how do I know I can trust you, with you sitting here with Dumbledore the last fifteen years."

"Our master knows my worth Draco," Snape's voice was cold, so much so that Harry could feel the chill from outside the door, "It would do you no good to question him or the role I play."

"I would never question _him._ I just want you to leave me alone! I've already told you what I am doing."

"Well, judging by your latest attempts-"

"I had nothing to do with that!"

"- you need my assistance more than you believe."

"I have assistance! Crabbe and Goyle, and others too, better people!"

"I took the Unbreakable Vow for you Draco! This is not a matter to trifle with. For your mother, I am risking my life to protect you."

"I don't care what you took, I was given a job, and I'm going to complete it!"

"What is your plan?"

"It's none of- stop, I know what you're doing, it won't work- I can stop you."

Snape paused, and Harry readjusted the wire of the ear, "It seems Aunt Bellatrix has taught you some Occlumency. What are you hiding from me, Draco? Is there more to your task than what you are letting on?"

"I'm not trying to hide anything from you! _He_ told me I needed to learn it, and my aunt has taught me lots of things."

"It would do for you to be careful. Your Aunt Bellatrix is not feared without reason, if any were to know of the knowledge she has passed on to you-"

"What does it matter if they find out! It will all be celebrated soon enough- this entire farce put on by Dumbledore and the Ministry will be lifted."

"Silence! This is precisely why you are in need of my help. You speak dangerously and too freely. If the wrong person were to hear you speak like that," Snape's voice was gaining strength, Harry could hear the impatience dripping with each word, "You are entirely careless, wandering the halls without a care, placing trust in those fools you call friends, these are basic mistakes that could wind up getting you killed!"

"I have no choice. I need to do this, and it has to be alone. Stop trying to steal my glory!" Harry heard a desk crash from inside the room.

"You have no hope if you keep acting like a child!" Snape roared, before suddenly returning to a much quieter level, "I understand you are troubled, what with your father's imprisonment in Azkaban and the death of Miss Parkinson-"

"Don't talk about her! Stop! I've had enough" Malfoy cried as his voice cracked.

The only warning Harry had was two loud footsteps before the door crashed open. Harry barely had the time to retract the Extendable Ear before pulling him and Daphne tightly against the wall.

It was only as Malfoy disappeared around the corner that Snape exited the room, an inscrutable expression on his pallid face. The man stood there, onyx eyes searching as if he could sense someone was in the vicinity.

Underneath the cloak, Harry and Daphne were pressed chest against chest. The two of them holding their breaths, and eyes staring directly into one another. It seemed like an eternity that Snape stood sentry in the empty hall. The scent of peaches overwhelmed Harry's senses, Daphne's hair tickling his nose. It was torture, the way Daphne was molded against him, his body starting to react in ways he didn't want it to in that moment. The only other thing he could focus on in an attempt to control himself was a familiar pinching feeling that played with the skin underneath his arm.

Finally, Snape seemed satisfied with the security of the location and returned back in the direction of the party.

Immediately, the two of them released their breaths. Bodies shaking from the exertion, but still not moving from each other. Something in Daphne's eyes changed in that moment, a sensitivity and fear that hadn't existed before.

Their lips met in the middle, neither entirely sure who initiated it. It was tentative at first, a gentle exploration of the situation they found themselves in.

He felt Daphne's tongue peek into his mouth, a testing probe that sought acceptance. Harry opened his mouth further permitting her passage, and let out a groan as she took full advantage. His unconscious reaction to her action was all Daphne needed to break free of the almost hesitant nature of their embrace. Caution was thrown to the wind.

With a strength beyond her slight frame, Daphne pushed Harry to the wall, one hand gripping the material of his robes while the other brought his face closer to hers. There was a ferocity and desperation to her affection, as if this was the end of the world and the only time they had together. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and Harry pulled back just far enough to peer down at her.

There was a hunger to her eye, one that matched the same one he felt in his core. He couldn't help but compare this to when he kissed Susan on the train. He remembered how his moment with Susan felt wrong. They were two broken souls, both hurt from the murder of the most important person in their lives. They acted on emotions, seeking solace in physical affection, and Harry knew it was doomed from the start.

This however, felt much different. It felt like opening a door of endless possibilities, a beginning to something that could evolve into much more. He wasn't the same grieving boy who had just lost Sirius, he was a man whole who had come to terms with the sacrifices of war.

But still, something was wrong. Something was missing.

Pushing away his indecisiveness, Harry reached out and cupped the side of Daphne's head, her face instinctively moving into the motion. He brushed her cheek with his thumb, just as he lifted her chin and kissed her with more certainty than before. There was a certain passion between them, one which grew exponentially with each motion of their mouths and caress of their bodies.

Without knowing how, Harry quickly found his hands resting on the gentle curve of her spine and gripping the soft flesh of her rear. She was lithe in her movements, and in a sudden motion that took him by surprise, Daphne used his leg as leverage to climb upwards along his body.

The material of her dress rode up her slim legs, and he could feel the heat of her core press against his upper thigh. She let out an involuntary moan that was quickly passed on to him as she renewed her attack on his tongue with her own. His own mouth could hardly keep up with the enthusiasm of hers. In a half-dazed thought, Harry wondered if she was part dementor.

He felt a small hand slip in between the folds of his robes and travel down the skin of his torso. It was tantalizing, his arousal growing with each bit of skin she danced over before she finally gripped it in her hand.

Not wanting to be outdone, Harry rubbed his thigh against her sex causing her to gasp and move against him to increase the friction.

Both out of breath and completely disoriented, they paused, still underneath the invisibility cloak, and Daphne looked up at him with an impish smile, "I guess I was wrong," her dress had slipped off her shoulder, just barely keeping cover of her breasts.

"About what?" he breathed out, the displaced air pushing some of the hair out of her face.

"You are the type to take advantage of a lady in a tightly enclosed space," she giggled, before silencing his protest with a kiss.

All thought of that irritating itch at his seam was forgotten.

 **AN**

 **Welcome back, I hope you enjoyed this latest update. I had a lot of fun writing this one (the end scene, Oh No!) and playing around with JK's material on the party and Draco/Snape's argument.**

 **Given this fic's increasing deviation from Canon, there will be less and less things taken from HBP, although a few moments will be included and twisted my own way as I have already been doing.**

 **Harry's life has been hectic as hell so far this year, so a lot of the drama between Ron and Hermione that we see in canon is missed. Harry really has no idea what is going on with his friends, and I felt it was a good time to show that.**

 **Slughorn's party was a blast! I hadn't realized just how much I enjoy playing with the quirky nature of witches and wizards.**

 **Quite a bit of foreshadowing in this one, some a lot more obvious than others.**

 **Also, Harry's little trick for Daphne's gift might seem like not a big deal, but the basis of what he did will have big implications later on. There was a reason Dumbledore chose to spend an entire evening and morning teaching him that, instead of quick little party trick.**

 **Next chapter will likely be a big one. It will cover the holidays outside of Hogwarts, so a lot of important stuff to cover and the return of the Order of the Phoenix. There also may or may not be a field trip with Dumbledore.**

 **I am going to address a couple of things now:**

 **1: I noticed that a few people have picked up on grammatical/punctation errors that I have. I generally write up the chapter, and once completing it, I proof read it myself. It's a one person show up in here, so I'm bound to miss a few things/not know a few things, which translate into mistakes. I've never been entirely sold on the idea of having a Beta, but maybe that could be the answer to cleaning up a few things. So if anyone is interested, it's possible that I might start using one.**

 **2: I went into some detail on this with a reader who sent me a PM, but the Harry/Fleur relationship is very complicated as of this point. There's a lot of infatuation, a lot of emotionally charged scenarios, and weird timing between them, amongst other things. All will be clear in the future as to why things seem odd at times.**

 **Reviews are always welcome, I love reading them and hearing what people have to say about my writing, what they think is going to happen, and any suggestions they might have for me. Feel free to leave them, they do serve as a good motivation to pump out as many chapters as possible.**

 **Until next time.**


	13. Chapter 13

"Why'd you let me do that?" the grumpy voice of a particularly disgruntled redhead came from his side while a piping hot mug hot chocolate went sliding down the table into his awaiting palm.

"I told you not to," Harry replied, blowing steam from the top of the foaming liquid. He could still feel the burn of the cold on his face.

"That's not true, I heard you beside me the entire way. You kept telling me to keep going," Ron said as he plopped on the seat across from Harry, his body wrapped in a thick blanket.

Harry ignored Ron for the moment, sitting in contemplation over the drink in front of him. Ignoring the risk, he took a sip. His tongue screamed in pain, but immediately a pleasant warmth started to spill through his body. It was worth it.

"Ron, I was on the ground putting my broom away, I don't know what you're talking about," Harry could feel the sting of his tongue while he spoke.

"You weren't beside-"

"I just told you where I was. Why would I ever tell you to try and pull off a Wronski Feint? And in this weather too?" Harry pointed out the window to the light snow whirling in the winds they had just flown in.

"Then who was talking to me?" Ron looked completely dumfounded and Harry had no clue as to what he was talking about.

As if apparating on the spot, two stockier redheads appeared out of nowhere. Together they slid in on either side of their brother, as if mirror images of each other.

"That would be us, dear brother," the one on the right spoke up. Harry was fairly certain it was Fred.

"We got good old Harry here to do our bidding," Ron turned to Harry with a betrayed look on his face based on the words from the twin, George, on his other side. "But unknowingly of course," the two of them were grinning like loons.

Knowing that neither Harry or Ron knew what they were talking about, the twins basked in satisfaction for a moment. That was until Fred threw a clunky pink object onto the table between them. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a pair of dentures, two rows of perfectly white teeth bridged by artificial gums.

"What are you doing with Aunt Muriel's teeth?" Ron's head swivelled between his two brothers in confusion.

"These aren't Muriel's teeth," the twins looked green at the thought. "They're called Dictating Dentures!" Fred announced with a flourish of his arm.

"New product?" Harry looked over at George.

"Prototype really. Not on the shelves yet, we've got a few kinks to work out first."

"I thought you lot said you were done testing out products on me?" Ron shouted at their apparent broken word.

"That's not true at all, Ron. We said last year that we would stop using them on you at _Hogwarts_ ," Fred emphasized the last word. "Couldn't go wasting prime pranking materials when there was a perfectly good toad just begging for it."

"Croaking for it, more like," George sniggered. "We've always known you were a bit thick Ron, but I don't see a giant squid anywhere," he bent over and looked under the table as if expecting to find it there, "and we've got a ghoul upstairs, but he's no Peeves."

Ron's face was red. Whether in embarrassment, from the cold, or out of anger, Harry wasn't entirely sure.

"How does it work?" Harry asked genuinely curious at what they cooked up this time, and in the effort of trying to save Ron from his brothers.

"Well you see, what it's supposed to do is mimic the sound of other people," Fred explained as the two of them leaned in over the table.

"We fooled around a bit with a charm that's meant to absorb noise, and we got it so that after a few minutes we can trick the charm to repeat back something that we are saying, but in the sound of whatever was originally absorbed," Harry was positive there was much more to it than that, but he appreciated George's effort to explain it in simpler terms.

"That's genius…" Ron's jaw was hanging open, completely forgetting his former outrage at being the victim of their prank.

"Bless him, Fred, it looks like we've got ourselves our own little fan."

The red of Ron's face was definitely from embarrassment this time.

"We haven't gotten the speaking part down perfectly…" George started, just as Fred got the dentures to repeat whatever was stored in them before.

It was the message Ron had heard outside, telling him to keep going faster and that he'd have no trouble pulling off the feint, in Harry's voice. But the voice of a Harry who sounded part troll with Flobberworms shoved up his nostrils.

"… but it's a work in progress," George trailed off.

"Didn't think it would work when we slipped it into Ron's cloak… but the wind helped a lot," Fred shrugged.

"What was that for then?" Ron asked still sore.

As if hearing the very words coming out of his mouth, a small golden blur shot into the room before looping around the heads of the twins causing them to shout. Wands were pulled, spells were shot, but the buzzing figure evaded them with ease.

After an over enthusiastic blast from Fred's wand nearly collided with the Weasley family clock, the brothers guiltily put their wands away before something catastrophic occurred and Mrs. Weasley came stomping down from upstairs.

"Come on Fred, I think it's about time we pop back to the shop to close up. Maybe we'll bring home some Christmas goodies for our dear brother," there was an almost evil smirk on their faces as they exited the Burrow, their eyes never leaving Ron and the broom mounted figure hovering over his left shoulder.

"You don't think they really mean that do you?" Ron asked aloud with a nervous tinge to his voice.

Harry couldn't blame him, Fred and George were dangerous enemies to have and Ron certainly hadn't done himself any favours. It had been a never ending retelling of 'the greatest broom race in half a century' since boarding the Hogwarts Express and leaving Hogwarts. The twins, perhaps a bit sore at never winning themselves, grew tired quickly of Ron's recounting of his great victory. But worse than their brothers boasting, was the trophy he brought home.

About twenty years back, one particularly talented Ravenclaw charmed a Quidditch miniature the colour gold, before enchanting it with a spell similar to that which is placed on a snitch. It quickly became tradition for the winner to keep hold of it over the holidays as a trophy.

The problem was that the enchantment started to go a bit funny as time went on, and now it was peskier than the horde of Cornish Pixies Lockhart unleashed on their defence class. So far the twins had woken up to find it trapped in their pants, submerged in their tea, and whizzing about their heads like a stubborn fly that just wouldn't go away. It was only a matter of time before they ran out of patience.

"Hey, Harry… do you think Hermione's mad at me?"

The suddenness of the question caught Harry off guard. "Er, what?"

"Didn't she seem a bit weird on the train?" he continued, "She could hardly look at me, and she pretty much vanished without a goodbye when we got to the station."

Harry in fact did notice Hermione's odd behaviour on the train, and he was quite positive it had something to do with what she had told him before Slughorn's party. He wanted to try and bridge the gap between his two best friends during the train ride, but he honestly did not know where to start. It was frustrating to no end, knowing where the problem lay but having no solution in sight. The fact that his mind was preoccupied with the events of the night before didn't help matters either.

"I don't know, Ron, you know how she gets sometimes," he didn't feel comfortable telling Ron the true reason behind her actions. "Maybe it was just because she was meeting her parents and not coming here with us."

"Do you think she's having a good time? You know, with her parents and all. She doesn't talk about them all that often. I bet they missed her a lot."

"Maybe." Harry wasn't entirely convinced. Having come from a difficult home in his childhood, Harry was much better at picking up on certain things than others. One of those things was his wariness over the situation of Hermione's home life. She rarely spoke of her parents anymore and steered clear of any conversation that brought them up. In fact, it mirrored the way he avoided mentioning the Dursley's to anyone who wasn't already aware of their existence. Uncharacteristically for most muggleborn and muggle raised students, she stopped taking full advantage the holidays away from Hogwarts - spending more time with the Weasley's than even he had in recent years.

"What was that?" Ron brought him out of his quiet contemplation, a thin smear of foam over his lip from the steaming beverage he had just finished.

"Nothing. Just wondering when everyone is getting here tonight."

"Mum said they'll be apparating home with dad from the Ministry," he answered while standing up, "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we go and peel the sprouts mum wanted ready for supper."

What started with a pile of sprouts, quickly escalated to a thorough non-magic cleaning of the main floor of the Burrow, locking the ghoul back in the attic, putting away Mr. Weasley's collection of television antennae, amongst any other odd job Mrs. Weasley could find to keep them busy. Not for the first time, Harry found himself cursing the foresight of the twins for leaving the house before it was too late. Ginny had taken up the excuse of preparing herself for dinner in order to escape her mother's attentions. Molly clearly wanted their humble home to look its best, and that duty fell on his and Ron's shoulders. Although... he still didn't quite understand how polishing the family clock for the fourth time in an hour made any difference.

The first _cracks_ of apparition finally freed them from their laborious duties, with Mrs. Weasley sending them upstairs to freshen up before joining the others. Throwing on a green jumper with golden snitches that would occasionally buzz around the stitching, Harry made his way back down with Ron still holed up in the bathroom.

He recognized a fair few voices just as he entered the front room to see Mr. Weasley hanging up his overcoat, and Mrs. Weasley embracing Kingsley, Mad-Eye, and Tonks. His face brightened at the sight of the young Metamorphmagus.

"Wotcher, Harry!" was the only warning he got, before she rushed across the rooms and tripped into his arms.

"Tonks!" Harry grunted at the impact, "I didn't know that you were coming."

He figured Tonks would have spent Christmas with her family.

"And miss the chance to see you? Never," she teased. "Besides, mum and dad went out to visit some muggle relatives in America."

"Potter," a rough voice cut in from behind Tonks, one that immediately shifted her to the side.

"It's nice to see you again Moody." He greeted, noting with interest the healthy dose of respect and deference Tonks showed Moody, despite her normally casual demeanor.

"Ha! You finally listened and stopped calling me professor. If only Nymphadora was as obedient as you," he grumbled causing the young woman to flush and curse his use of her first name.

Before any further bickering between the two could commence, Kingsley came over and started asking about his school year thus far.

Taking note of the company he was with, Harry took his chance to ask something that had been bothering him for days now. "Do you think I could talk to you in private? It's… Order related, and I think it might be something important."

Without a word, an impassable mask settled on Kingsley's face as he nodded sharply. He didn't catch it himself, but Kingsley must have made some sort of signal, because both Mad-Eye and Arthur followed the two of them into the sitting room by the fire.

Not wanting to waste a second of the short time they had in private, Harry went right to the heart of the matter, "I think Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."

The reactions he received in response to his statement were not what he had expected, with only Mr. Weasley betraying any shock on his face. Mad-Eye had a gnarled smile, and Kingsley looked to be frowning in thought.

"I don- Harry…" Arthur paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "My family has a great many reasons to dislike the Malfoy's just as you do I'm sure, but Draco Malfoy? A Death Eater?"

"The lad's entire family is full of them, Arthur. I wouldn't put it past Lucius having his son join, and let's not forget the mad bitch he has for an aunt," Moody spoke up from the side.

"It is an interesting thought, Harry. I will be the first to admit that I haven't considered any Hogwarts students as possible Death Eaters. But he recruited from the school before, I don't see why he wouldn't again," Kingsley added.

"Well… yes… I suppose it's possible, but what could they possibly gain from having a boy still in school join other than run the risk of him exposing himself." Arthur eyed the two other men as he spoke, looking for support.

"What led you to this belief Harry? It's one thing to accuse the boy based on history, but another to do so with evidence," Kingsley's dark eyes scrutinized him in a way that made him uneasy. He almost pitied whatever criminal had the misfortune to fall under his care.

With that, Harry found himself telling them everything that had come to pass. From his run in with Malfoy on the train, to the letter he received from his mother, and the conversation he overheard between Malfoy and Snape.

Upon the telling of his tale he could see the men deep in thought, connecting the dots in their minds and coming to the same conclusion he had himself.

"Looks like the boy's as foolish as his father," Mad-Eye grumbled as he took a seat, followed by the rest of them, "At least it clears up some of the shit we've heard coming out of Hogwarts this year."

"Yes, it definitely appears so…" Kingsley's voice faded away softly as he stared into the depths of the flames. "Tell me Harry, have you responded to Mrs. Malfoy's letter?"

"No," he replied, "I wasn't really sure what to do or say."

"Good… If the situation is what it appears to be, I'm not sure much can be done for Mr. Malfoy. Minister Scrimgeour has been cracking down harshly on any suspected Death Eaters and possible affiliates. Uncovering one at Hogwarts, especially with it being the son from an influential family with close ties to high ranking Death Eaters, would be a fantastic boost to his public image and the war effort."

"Surely Albus must be told?" Mr. Weasley spoke up, sitting just a bit straighter in his chair.

"Of course we will. My duty to the department dictates I must report any evidence regarding Death Eater activity, and if anyone knows the validity of Mr. Malfoy's situation it will be Albus."

"What about Snape?" Harry broke in impatiently. Harry was already convinced of Malfoy's guilt and was surprised that was the information the men had chosen to fixate on. He brought to them proof of Snape working with Malfoy. Did they not care for Snape's apparent betrayal?

Kingsley's eyes had yet to leave the flames and Mad-Eye was busy taking a sip from his flask, but Arthur betrayed them with a pitying glance that prickled his skin with irritation.

"We'll talk to him lad," Moody said, flask still in hand.

"Harry… did it occur to you that Severus was pretending to offer help, given his nature as a spy," Mr. Weasley lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, one that Harry fought the urge to smack off in anger.

They didn't see it like he did.

"I was there, I heard the two of them talking. Snape wants to help him, and even if Malfoy doesn't let him, he's still protecting him! How can you possibly trust-"

"It isn't our duty to decide the trustworthiness of Severus Snape," Kingsley finally turned to face the rest of the group, the light of the flames flickering in his dark eyes. "He is a part of the Order, and we work with him and the information he brings us accordingly. Dumbledore seems to believe that Severus is his man, and in all likelihood it was Albus who told Severus to speak with Mr. Malfoy. We will bring him our concerns, and the matter will be settled."

"Dumbledore has been wrong before. I know that better than anyone," Trelawney's spectral words played in his mind, chilling his very soul just as they had the first time back in Dumbledore's office. "He could be wrong about trusting him!"

"And there lies the core of the issue. _Trust_ ," Kingsley's voice was soft but strong. "The Order is an organization that runs on trust. In times of war, it is trust in our comrades and trust in our cause that gives us strength. Without trust, we fall into chaos. I trust Albus Dumbledore's judgment, and that is enough for me. No good comes from falling into paranoia."

Mad-Eye snorted from beside Kingsley at that, raising his flask in salute before taking another sip.

A small smirk appeared at the corner of his dark lips, "The exception, not the rule," his eyes flicked back to Harry. "Trust no one blindly, Harry, because that is equally dangerous. But paranoia will break us down from the inside. It did so in the last war…"

"Oh look at that, they're over here by the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley's voice came from the doorway behind them, striding forward with a purpose. There was a frantic, yet disappointed look in her eye as she stared at her husband, who couldn't meet her gaze. "Come, come, Harry dear, we're all set for supper. There will be time to chit chat all together later," her grip was tight as she pulled him out of the room and into an empty spot at the table between Ron and Ginny.

"Finally," Ron muttered as he settled in beside his friend, "I've been waiting all day for this." Harry couldn't blame him, the meal spread out in front of them looked delicious.

Ginny shot him a sweet smile, one that made him blush at their close proximity, the redhead squeezed in almost on his lap.

"Where'd you disappear to?" Ron asked from beside him.

"Just talking to your dad, Mad-Eye, and Kingsley," Ron's face immediately shot into one of understanding.

"Dad wasn't picking your brain on muggle contraptions again, was he?"

A familiar feeling of bitterness and disappointment flared inside him at the voice.

"No, just asking about my school year." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Harry figured Bill knew that as well, but he smiled anyways.

Fleur was nuzzled up beside him, chatting with Tonks to her side.

"Good, everyone is here," there was a bit of an edge to Mrs. Weasley's voice as she spoke up, the men from the other room filling in looking slightly abashed for a reason Harry wasn't entirely sure of.

"Before we begin, I just wanted to say thank you and welcome to our guests. I know we all have been going through some hard and stressful times… but having you all here today - to celebrate Christmas together… with us…" choked sounds accompanied Mrs. Weasley's words as she fought her emotions.

Stepping forward beside his wife and grabbing her hand, Mr. Weasley took over, "What Molly here is trying to say, is that us Weasley's are a big family, but not one that is looking to stop growing. All of you are our family. For some, it will soon be official," he looked over to Fleur and raised his glass. Bill gathered her in his arms and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. Her angelic face shone with a smile, but Harry thought he glimpsed a deep pain in her eyes.

"For others," Mr. Weasley's continued speech tore Harry's eyes away from Fleur, "who by good fortune we have chanced upon," this time he was looking directly at Harry, "we love you all the same."

A small smile was all he could muster while retaining his control after the heartfelt speech.

"Here, here!" the twins called out together.

"Here, Mum, have some parsnips," George offered, "you always used to say they would make us feel better when we were upset."

"Are you sure it wasn't the other way around George? That it was the parsnips making us upset?" Fred looked over at his twin with a smirk.

"You just might be right Fred. Here Mum, take some parsnips anyways, I'm sure their delicious."

Mrs. Weasley let out a watery laugh, and quickly embraced her two sons. With that, everyone tucked into their respective meals.

The atmosphere of the house was warm and full of affection. Laughter bounced between the wooden walls of the Burrow, as stories and jests were exchanged. Mrs. Weasley was pushing and prodding and encouraging Kingsley to go out and find a wife of his own, and given the enjoyment plastered on Arthur and Mad-Eye's faces it wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

Ginny was busy talking with the twins about their shop, and the new employees they had hired to help cover the madness of the holiday season. She must have been lost in the excitement of the conversation, because at some point her leg had settled across Harry's and her hand set upon his upper thigh.

It seemed as though the only one not enjoying themselves was Harry. There was nothing he wanted more than to join in the laughter and joy of the others, but he couldn't. Ignoring Ginny's touch and the conversation Ron was having with Bill and Fleur about their wedding, Harry's mind couldn't escape the thoughts that had been plaguing him for days.

He was certain the others had noticed his sullen and gloomy attitude throughout the meal, but thankfully nobody spoke up.

He had tried different ways of cheering himself up, like thinking of what Daphne was doing with her family over the holidays, but his mind would always circle back to dark thoughts of the war. Malfoy's role in Voldemort's plans, Snape's true loyalties, what Dumbledore was building up to in his lessons, they all brewed in his head. Another, was how much he wished Sirius and Remus could be here with him.

"Tonks," Mrs. Weasley called out while clearing away some of the empty plates, as others went in for seconds, "I was so happy when you accepted my invitation for this evening, but I was surprised you weren't already booked," she winked.

"Yes… well- um, I found an opening," Tonks looked a little flustered, something Harry had only ever seen when Sirius teased her about her childhood.

"Bloody girl almost blew open the Order's cover," Moody shouted across the table, poking uncertainly at the food on his plate, "Thought I taught her better than that."

"I didn't almost blow open the Order," she talked back like a teenager would to their parent, "Besides, he would make a great addition to the Order. The interest is already there."

"I've got nothing to do with recruiting, would scare away most people if I tried. All I know is that when there's a secret order, you bloody well don't invite them over to a dinner filled with members of said order."

"It's not like they're here anyway," she stuck her tongue out at her mentor. "Stuck on Ministry duty," Tonks grumbled.

Before Harry could figure out what they were talking about, a soft chime rang throughout the house. It was a sound most were familiar with, if they had spent enough time in the Burrow. One that had already sounded thrice with the arrival of Mr. Weasley, Fred and George, and Bill; but none caught the house off guard like this one had.

Bill was the first to shoot to his feet, quickly turning into the sitting room.

"No this can't be right," they could all hear the soft rumble of his voice through the wall.

"What is it dear?" hope and uncertainty lined her tone as Mrs. Weasley quickly fled the room after her son.

"Oh! Arthur!" she shrieked, "Arthur! He's home!"

Before anyone had the chance to ask who she was referring to, the front door of the house burst open to reveal a stocky, well-muscled redhead with a face bit by the cold outdoors.

"Bloody hell Nymphie, what are you doing at my family's house for Christmas!"

"Charlie!?" Tonks half shouted from her seat, a look of bewilderment stretched across her face.

"Am I interrupting something?" Charlie dropped the heavy trunks he had been carrying on the floor with a _thump_. He looked puzzled at the sight of Mad-Eye and Kingsley.

"What are you doing here?" Tonks asked, as everyone else was too shocked to speak. Ron's mouth was gaping open like a fish, the twins were whispering between themselves, and Ginny was wiping furiously at her eyes.

"Well… this is my house," he pointed out, "I should be asking you what you're do-" he never had the chance to finish speaking, as Bill came running into the room and engulfed his brother in a bone crushing hug.

Mrs. Weasley wasn't very far behind, joining in the embrace of her two sons. It took Arthur to walk over and calmly whisper a few words for them to release Charlie, and give him the opportunity to hug his son.

"Why?" It seemed to be the only word Mrs. Weasley could force out of her mouth.

"I thought it was about time I came home," he smiled, before leading Bill and his parents back to the table and joining the meal.

"It's been so long," Mrs. Weasley sniffled.

"It's only been two years-"

"Two years! Two years is a long time Charles." Ginny snapped, cutting off her brother. The tears she was fighting back earlier were now streaming down her face.

Charlie's face immediately softened upon seeing his younger sister in such a state.

"I wanted to come back… so bad," his hand moved out to grasp Ginny's. "When I heard…" he paused, "I just knew I needed to leave. I needed to come home. I did what I could to move as quickly as possible, but Bill would know, contracts aren't the easiest things to break on short notice."

Bill nodded in agreement, as did Fleur.

"I managed to negotiate a deal, my last day of work was yesterday. Packed my things, took me about six portkeys, but now I'm here. Hope I'm a good enough Christmas present, because I didn't have enough time to find any gifts."

"Oh, Charlie, you're the best present I could have received. I have half a mind to lock you in your room to keep you from leaving again," Mrs. Weasley gushed.

"She's serious about that you know," Fred spoke up for the first time.

"Tried it on us when we first opened up the shop," George supplied to the laughs of many.

"Don't worry, I'm here to stay."

"What about work?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I didn't plan that far ahead," Charlie admitted sheepishly, "Maybe Fred and George could do with a few extra hands at the store for a while, I heard it's been pretty popular," the twins looked positively giddy with the idea. "There's that Welsh Green reserve up north as well, or maybe now that Hagrid is a full-time professor, he could do with someone looking over the forest for him next year. That is if it's not too awkward for an older brother to be working at school," he jested at Ginny and Ron.

Ginny laughed with her brother; but Ron looked stiff in his response, and entirely uncomfortable with the situation.

Moody and Kingsley quickly introduced themselves, and a dawning realization settled upon Charlie for the reason behind their presence. The normal buzz about the room returned shortly after.

"Glad to see I'm not the only ugly mug around here," Harry turned to see that Charlie was talking to him now, and gesturing to a collection of burns on his own face. "It's good to see you again, Harry."

"Oh shut up you ginger prat, Harry's burns are much more handsome than yours," Tonks smacked Charlie upside the head.

"How do you two know each other?" Harry asked in amusement.

"Friends from Hogwarts. Me and Nymphie were in the same year together," he snaked an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her into what looked to be a painful embrace.

"Mum thought they'd get married one day," Bill chimed in from the side, causing Tonks to pretend to be sick.

"Probably still does," Charlie laughed, as he helped himself to a plate of food. "But the only women I'm interested in right now, are the ones that have a tail and breathe fire."

As Charlie went to fill up his glass, a golden blur shot past his arm, causing him to flinch and knock over a pitcher of pumpkin juice in front of Fleur. Before anyone else could react, Harry's hand shot out to catching the tumbling pitcher before it spilt its contents.

Looking up, his eyes met Fleur's, and it was near impossible for him to look away.

"Merci, 'Arry," they were the first words she had spoken to him that day, and he drank them in like there was nothing sweeter in the world.

"What was that?" Charlie asked, stealing his attention away from Fleur.

"Nothing." Ron said nervously, his golden trophy peaking guiltily out from behind his shoulder.

"Merlin, I know where that's from!" Charlie practically shouted, "Why didn't you tell me you won the race!"

Immediately, the air of uncertainty that had surrounded Ron since the arrival of his brother disappeared. A stupid grin settled upon his best mate's face as he fell into telling the story of his great victory. It was the same one he had heard dozens of times, but unlike him, Harry had the feeling Charlie would never grow tired of the tale.

It was as the table was getting cleared, and desert was being prepared to be served that another chime came from the family clock.

"Percy?" Mr. Weasley asked aloud, as if he couldn't believe his own words. "Percy, it must be," he said again as he moved to look outside the window. "It's Percy," he confirmed causing his wife to shriek in excitement, "and- is that the Minister?"

The house was immediately still for a moment, before Mad-Eye hobbled out of his seat and his electric blue eye whirled around in its socket and pointed in the direction of the front door. "Your floo Arthur, we'll be needing it," he stated.

"Your cooking was delicious, Molly," Kingsley said as he picked up a pinch of floo powder, "A shame that we couldn't stay for desert."

He vanished in emerald flames, just as Moody grabbed a handful himself, "Get a move on girl, unless you want to explain to the Minister and your boyfriend what the hell you're doing here of all places," he growled at Tonks just as he vanished as well.

She scampered quickly across the ground to the fireplace, "I'll stop by as soon as I can, thank you." She waved goodbye, and the flames disappeared just as the door opened to reveal a red-faced Percy Weasley.

From behind him walked in the ever stony faced Auror Conner, who almost had to push a reluctant Percy through the threshold of the doorway. Immediately behind the two of them came a man Harry had only ever seen in the Prophet.

Rufus Scrimgeour wasn't a particularly tall man, or a large one, but something about him held a commanding presence. His wiry mane of grey hair resembled that of an old but prideful lion, his eyes were cunning and sharp, and the thin scars that littered his aged face betrayed his prior experience in fighting wars. He looked very much like a man he did not want to cross. He used a cane to walk, but the strength about the man suggested he was not dependant on its use.

The last to enter the Burrow was Auror Fardale, an easy smile on his face as usual.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, and locked her estranged son in a desperate embrace. "It's really you," she grabbed hold of his face, "It's a miracle to see you both home. Our whole family together," she sounded on the verge of hysteria. "My Percy, and Charlie-"

"Charlie?" Percy stiffened at the name of his brother, looking like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet then here. "Oh. Hello." His greeting was tense as he gazed upon his family.

"Hiya Perce," Charlie waved with a hard look on his face. It seemed that not all the Weasley's were pleased with their brother's appearance. In fact, only Mrs. Weasley looked joyful at the reunion. Bill was frowning, Ron was scowling openly along with Ginny, Mr. Weasley found a very interesting spot to look at on the wall, and the twins had a devious glint to their eyes.

It was entirely too awkward for Harry's taste.

"I didn't know you were coming home," Percy directed his statement to the Minister as if to accuse him of something, but the man looked pleased at the developing scene.

"Thought it was about time to act a Weasley and be with the family," Charlie answered.

The meaning behind his words was not lost upon anyone in the room.

From across the room Harry heard Fardale cough something that sounded suspiciously like 'He's got a point,' before excusing himself for a glass of water.

"Yes, a big happy family, that's what Percy always tells me when he talks about home," Scrimgeour's words were clearly manufactured, but judging by the sob let loose by Mrs. Weasley, it was lost on her. "You must forgive me, Percy has been invaluable to me in recent months and when I saw your name," he looked at Charlie, "on the list of incoming international portkey's I couldn't help myself from reuniting the family."

"It's much appreciated, Minister. Almost _too_ kind of you," Arthur's words were spoken without emotion.

"Yes, yes, it is Christmas after all. I simply couldn't resist," his eyes met Mr. Weasley's without hesitation, in what must have been a play for dominance he knew he would win.

"Come on in, have a seat, help yourself to anything you wish. I really did make too much – a bad habit of mine," Mrs. Weasley bumbled, and pulled up a couple more chairs to set around the table.

"No, no, I couldn't my dear," Scrimgeour declined. "My knee finds itself locking up in cold temperatures such as these – an old wound, you see – and I think it could do with a bit of a stroll outside." His eyes snapped towards Harry, "Why doesn't this young man accompany me? Let the family have their reunion," his smile could only be described like that of a predator.

Immediately, Harry's mind went to the memory of Auror Conner's warning at Slughorn's party. From the corner of his eye, he could see the man nod at him.

"Per'aps, I could join ze Minister and 'Arry as well?" Fleur spoke up suddenly from her spot at the table, her gaze flicking between himself and Scrimgeour.

"I think that would be a wonderful idea," Mr. Weasley cut in before Bill could speak up, his hand gripping his son's shoulder tightly in warning.

"I think Harry will do, thank you," his tone was warning. His cutting gaze looked to Fleur who met it with her own. "Miss Delacour I presume?" he inquired, to which she sniffed in response, "Percy mentioned wanting to get to know his brother's _French_ fiancée, I wouldn't want to impede his desire to do so."

With a quick turn, he gestured for Harry to follow. As they moved to the door, both Conner and Fardale made to follow. "I have no need of protection," he called off the two men, "Your evenings are being spent with myself rather than with your family's, the least I can offer you is a home cooked meal."

Conner did not look happy with the turn of events, but Fardale simply shrugged and took a seat beside the twins.

The bite of the wind was cold and harsh once they had stepped outside of the Burrow. A fresh layer of snow had settled upon the ground as more fell down from the sky, melting upon contact of their skin.

There was a queer silence held between the two of them as they walked around the garden, almost as if they really were going out for a simple stroll. "You weren't as shocked with my appearance this evening as the others were," Scrimgeour finally spoke out. "I suppose Conner gave you my warning that night at the party."

"He did," Harry replied simply.

"That's good. I did not want to catch you entirely too off guard," he said as they rounded Mr. Weasley's shed, leaves and now-dead flowers shrivelled up in themselves crunched underfoot. "You know; I can't go a day without hearing your name at least a dozen times."

"Can't you?" he asked drily, "I suppose that in times like this the Ministry doesn't have anything better to do than gossip about what I'm up to at school."

"Such is the nature of humans, Harry… they gossip."

"And such is the nature of the Ministry… it's incompetent."

Scrimgeour paused mid-step at his response, before continuing on to the opening of the field where they would play Quidditch. "You have a sharp tongue on you," he chuckled, "it reminds me a lot of Amelia."

"Madam Bones was a fine woman," Harry acknowledged. He knew how much Susan admired her aunt.

"That she was, may she rest in peace. She was a good friend of mine, the one who actually recommended that I run for Minister when everyone was calling for Fudge to step down."

Harry was unsure where the Minister was going with this.

"The Ministry… what a mess it was, especially after _that_ evening. Lucius Malfoy being caught red-handed after having Fudge's ear for so long, the return of Voldemort, and that mess in the Department of Mysteries – I still have Unspeakables coming up to me today complaining," there was a hint of dark humour in his tone. "You have my condolences as well, Mr. Potter. I only wish Sirius Black would have lived to see his name cleared."

Harry didn't like the way Scrimgeour was using Sirius to gain favour with him.

"You see, Harry, all of these issues, all this corruption is that of the _old_ Ministry. Your hate, your anger, your distrust – oh, I can see it even know on your face – is left at the feet of the mess Fudge created. It is different now."

"Is it now."

"I can't fault you for this attitude, but at some point you must grow to look beyond your prejudices and bias. I have a family I rarely see, because it's my job to take care of this nation. I've worked countless hours to right the sinking ship Fudge abandoned, I've plugged as many holes as I can, and reshaped its structure to keep it afloat. The Ministry is not as it once was."

"And what of its crew?" Harry asked catching Scrimgeour by surprise, "What of people like Delores Umbridge?"

"Delores? Wha- I don't…" It seemed that Harry had managed to wrong-foot the man with his question. "I'm not entirely sure of what Madam Umbridge has to do with anything, but if you would like to know, she has mentioned you harbour an ambition to become an Auror – an admirable career path if I might add."

White hot rage pumped through him in that moment, to the point he was surprised he hadn't melted the snow around them. "That woman is a monster." He grounded out between clenched teeth, the faded scars burning through the skin of his clenched fist.

"A monster… Umbr- What? I… Is there a reason you say so?"

"She ruined an entire year's worth of Defense education, and attempted to tortured children. No. She did torture children. The only office she should be familiar with is that of the Warden's in Azkaban."

"Harry… only the worst of the worst are sent to Azkaban."

"Then she'll fit right in."

"I... I will set up an inquiry the moment I return to my office," he promised, Harry's attitude and words clearly having an effect on him.

"But you see, Harry, work is still being done. With your help just now, together, we cleaned up another mess left behind by Fudge," Scrimgeour finally seemed to have recovered from Harry's interruption, his normal pattern of political speech returning. "Together, Harry, we can work together to bring further stability to the nation."

"Together? How would that work?" Harry was slow in asking the question, trying to read the man's intentions.

"Nothing too difficult or time consuming. You see, as I mentioned earlier, it is the nature of human's to gossip. So let them gossip. Let me hear your name a hundred times in one day if I must."

"You want me as a mascot." It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

"I want you as a beacon of hope against the darkness. Let the people see their 'Chosen One,' let them see the Ministry standing beside him. It will be a lift to the public seeing their hero, and when the Ministry finally defeats Voldemort we will let you be there for the glory."

However good Scrimgeour's speech had been, he had made a terrible mistake. "You think I'm doing this for glory? That I'm looking for attention or some sort of selfish validation?"

"No, no, of course not – a poor choice of words – I meant… it will only add to the triumph of victory having you there when it is all over."

"This isn't some sort of game to me, Minister. I don't particularly care for any sort of triumph, or what the public thinks. I want Voldemort dead. That is all that matters."

"Of course, we all want to see the mad man defeated. The Ministry will see to that."

"Stop!" Harry shouted, his temper getting the better of him finally. "Enough of this false bravado being put on by the Ministry. Flowery words and public imagery won't win me over, and it certainly won't defeat Voldemort. There is no one else on this earth who knows him as well as I do, so don't start telling me what it will take to stop him. My parents knew the price of what it took to stop him, my godfather knew the price, Neville Longbottom's parents, Amelia Bones even, they all knew what it took."

"The Ministry has been fighting this war for years, _boy_ ," Scrimgeour finally snapped. The distance between the two of them had closed significantly, hot breath and rage mixing in the cool night air between them. "I didn't get these scars cutting myself shaving."

"And I didn't get mine sitting on my ass either," Harry spat back.

"Grow up, Mr. Potter, and see what must be done. This war is bigger than you. Your image can help save us when the real fighting starts. The Ministry has already made progress. We've forced the Werewolves to flee the country," he smirked triumphantly as if proving a point.

Did they really flee from the Ministry? Or did they leave through their own choice? He remembered Tonks telling him the Werewolves were remaining neutral in the war, perhaps they were looking to distance themselves further from the conflict. Harry remain unconvinced.

His indifferent reaction seemed to further infuriate Scrimgeour. "No wonder Dumbledore has been protecting you all this time. You're just like him – your hero – distancing yourself from the Ministry and the real world. The great man who defeated Grindelwald, what has he done to defeat Voldemort? He disappears for days at a time from Hogwarts. Where is he going?"

"What does Dumbledore have to do with any of this?" Harry was perplexed at the turn in conversation.

"Your Minister is asking you a question," he ordered.

"And I'm not giving you an answer."

The man let out a bitter laugh, "So it's as they all say then. They warned me that looking for your support would be fruitless," he sighed. "You have nothing to say to me, for all the good I am trying to do for our people?"

Harry remained silent.

"Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you?"

There was a pause.

"No. I'm my own man, Minister."

With that, he turned and walked back toward the Burrow. The Minister could bloody well walk on his own if he wanted to stretch his stupid knee so bad. Whatever good the man was doing as Minister mattered not, especially with the way he had spoken to him.

The scene he walked in on inside the house would have had him laughing, if he wasn't in such a foul mood. Bits of food were strewn across the room, with most of it spattered on Percy and his glasses. Each of his siblings looked equally guilty. Mrs. Weasley was off sobbing in the corner, with Mr. Weasley trying to console her. Fardale's face was a shocking shade of purple, likely from chocking on his own laughter; while Conner looked severely unimpressed. Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

"The Minister?" Conner asked immediately upon seeing Harry.

"Outside." Harry replied. "Says to meet him and that it's time to leave," he lied.

"About bloody time," Percy cursed, hurryingly gathering his things and making his way to the door without a goodbye.

Conner followed; where Fardale however, took the opportunity to gather a spoonful of parsnip and launch an incredible shot through the air landing on top of Percy's hair, to the raucous cheers of the Weasley children.

He didn't see what happened next, having already climbed the stairs wanting to find some time to think on his own.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be, as he almost immediately ran into Fleur on his way up.

"Oh, 'Arry, ze Minister eez gone? How was eet?" she asked, while tying her silvery hair back behind her head. Her sweater rode up as she did so, revealing the smooth sloping skin of her abdomen. The close confines of the staircase played heavily on Harry's mind.

"Entirely unpleasant," he answered honestly, doing his best to keep his eyes on hers.

"What did 'e want?" her arms moved back down to her sides, grazing his own on their descent.

"For me to be the poster boy of the Ministry," he rubbed the scar on his jaw in frustration. "He talked a lot about glory and triumph, and a load of other bollocks I don't care about. It was clear he hasn't spoken to anyone that knows me very well, otherwise his recruitment speech might have been a bit more persuasive and less anger inducing."

"He was horribly transparent in 'is attempt to get you alone. There eez much you Englishmen are missing in ze subtlety of politics."

"You mean Percy didn't really come here to get dressed up like a Christmas feast?" Fleur laughed, much to his pleasure.

"What zey did was very childish. In France we would never 'ave been able to get away wiz something like zat. My parents would have 'ad a fit, but Gabrielle would 'ave loved it," there was a wistful smile on her face as she spoke about France and her family. "Gabrielle says merci for ze Christmas gift you bought her, and zat she eez sorry she couldn't wait any longer to open eet."

"Tell her I don't mind, and that I'm happy she enjoyed it," he grinned.

The thought of gifts and Christmas did remind him of something he wanted to get done, and now was the best opportunity he would get. "Actually…" he spoke up slowly, he stomach swooping unexpectedly, "I have my gift for you, and I think it would be best if I gave a part of it... just between us."

Something flashed through Fleur's eyes then. Something much too quick for him to decipher.

Together, they both climbed to Ron's room where Harry was sleeping over the holidays. Fleur stood off to the side gazing out the window, her fingers playing at the sleeve of her jumper, as Harry knelt beside his trunk. It opened with a simple click, and right there sitting on top was a pair of mittens and a cloak that shimmered in the moonlight exactly as Fleur's eyes did.

His heart started hammering the moment he fingered the material, the waves of magic and fabric pooling in his hands. His throat was dry, his body wracked with nerves. It all seemed like such a great idea until that moment. He was terrified in a way he had never experienced before.

"One of the first things I ever heard you say back during the tournament, was to complain about the cold British weather," once he started speaking he felt better… but not by much, "You mentioned something similar months ago, back in Grimmauld Place, and I made you a promise for a gift."

Silence hung heavily between them in the small dark room, the only illumination coming from the moon. "Zat eez very sweet 'Arry," he could hear Fleur speak from beside him, her voice caressing his ear, but something was off with her tone.

"The mittens… well, my friend – a house elf – made them himself. Said it was an honour – he's actually quite barmy, but very sweet – and I think you'll really like them… they're unique… like you." His hands were trembling as he spoke.

Why was he so nervous?

He could feel his throat tighten with each word. His stomach wouldn't stop flip-flopping, and his mind was whirling with a thousand different possibilities, and another thousand outcomes of what could happen next.

Lifting Helena's cloak from his trunk, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath.

"I wanted the cloak to be something special for you, something that you couldn't just pick out in a catalog. My friend Luna… well, err – she introduced me to another friend of hers, who gave me this cloak."

When he unfurled the cloak in that moment, it was magical.

Hanging from his hands was a tapestry of the heavens. A map created by the Gods to chart their domain, something beyond what any mere mortal could dare to understand. Perhaps she had taken inspiration from her mother after all, because in this masterpiece he could see a reflection of Rowena's famous enchantment of the ceiling of the Great Hall.

In the dance of the moonlight, the threads of the pale blue fabric pulsed with life. Like a heart, he could see the woven material beat with life; ripples of its power flowing to their end. It was difficult to look away from such splendor, silver beads glimmering from its depths, plotting the course of its astronomical canvas. To the trained eye there was an underlying pattern that connected the dots into a complex web, that could divine the future. Something that normally was best viewed on a cloudless night atop a tower. There was deeper magic at play here, one only beholden to nature.

Standing there, knowing Fleur was right beside him, it was like sitting back in the attic at Grimmauld Place watching the stars above them. If he closed his eyes he could feel the same warmth about him knowing he wasn't alone anymore, and upon opening them he'd find himself staring at the same constellations he had that night.

Together, unknowingly, they had uncovered one of its secrets. To hide the image of the higher mysteries quite literally in the folds of her cloak was so unequivocally genius, it screamed nothing other than a Ravenclaw as its creator.

It was the manifestation of true beauty, and it was only fitting that the reflection of such could be seen in Fleur's eyes.

"Zat eez Ravenclaw's cloak?" she sounded breathless, like the wind had been knocked out of her in disbelief. "How did you find eet?" her hand hesitantly reached out, stopping a breath away from the fabric not daring to touch it.

"Like I said, err, a friend of a friend – who just so happened to be the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, gave it to me."

"Gave it?"

"I think she knew why I wante-" Harry stopped himself before it was too late. He had almost said too much. He couldn't let her know like this, not now. Not with what happened with Daphne, not standing in the middle of his best mate's room, not with her fiancée just a few floors below.

He couldn't do it. His mind, his body, his soul, wouldn't allow him. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be.

"Here," he said instead, pushing the cloak further out, inciting her to grab it.

Her touch was tentative at first, as if afraid it would vanish before her very eyes. But once the material was firmly in her grasp, she clutched to it like she would never let it go. The cloak itself looked to have woven between her hands, holding on to her just as she was to it. Both glowing in the low light of the bedroom, together they emitted a magic so pure and so thick, Harry could have drowned in it.

His heart ached and threatened to burst at the sight of Fleur. Never had she looked so unattainable and untouchable, like a forbidden fruit he desperately wanted to taste. With the cloak in her hands matching the sheen of her blue eyes, her silvery hair falling loose from the tie behind her neck, standing there all slim and full breasted, she was the Veela of every man's fantasy.

He had never been so tempted in his life. She stood right there, the very image of a dream he had not dared to believe, and he could show her how much she meant to him.

"Zis is real," she breathed out to herself, a bubble of excitement building around her. "They thought eet was lost to history, zat she took eet when she ran away," the wonder in her voice was reflected by the widening of her eyes, her fingers dancing about the surface of the cloak. "She was a prodigy, I 'ave never seen somezing so expertly crafted. Ze power behind ze enchantments… ze secrets eet holds," she began to ramble with a certain joy he was very familiar with, like Hermione when finding a book she just couldn't put down.

"How did you know about it?" Harry was surprised by Fleur's familiarity with the cloak. He thought he would have had to explain the origins of his gift, which would have been much more difficult for him to do and sound believable.

"I remember reading about eet when ze Goblins 'ad me search through their archives for ancient artifacts. Especially those of your founders," her eyes had yet to leave her gift as she spoke. "Ze records only guessed at its possible properties. I 'ad dreamed of one day studying eet for myself – a foolish dream of a silly girl – but now I…" her eyes flicked up and met Harry's.

There was something held between them in that moment.

A spark was all that was needed to set it off; and it came when Fleur strode forward, grasping his face in her hands with the cloak bundled up against the nape of his neck, and planting her lips on his.

From a spark to an inferno, Harry released the blazing heat that had built up within him for months now.

With a force and confidence, he did not know he had, Harry grabbed hold of Fleur's waist and pulled her roughly against him. The feeling of her hip pressed against him, caused him to let out an involuntary moan, deepening the kiss.

His reaction had caught her off guard, or perhaps she was hesitant after her initiation, but she quickly followed his direction. Her normally gentle hands pulled sharply at his hair, her tongue darting into his mouth drawing her even closer to himself. Taking the opportunity presented, Harry slipped his own tongue in, eliciting a shudder of delight from the witch.

He ground up against her trying to initiate as much contact as he could between their many layers. In response, Fleur pushed him backwards. Unaware to the both of them, was the open trunk behind Harry's feet, tripping them up only to bash against the wall.

They grunted through each other's mouths, so lost to passion that they didn't dare separate from their own attentions. Her breasts were pushed tightly against him, their pressure building up one of his own, deep in his core. The scent of lavender was overwhelming, loose strands of her hair tickled up against his face, her hand gently stroked the burn along his jaw.

Burns just like Charlie's, who had come home to see his family. A family that Fleur would soon be joining with Bill, her fiancée, who was sitting downstairs with the rest of the Weasley's.

Fleur was to be a Weasley.

She wasn't his.

He was the outsider here.

Fleur belonged with her family. She deserved to be happy with a man like Bill. Harry brought death and destruction, and a prophecy that sealed his fate. The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, it was all meaningless when he was likely to die when it was all said and done. Fleur deserved to live and be loved.

Shame flooded him, and he pushed away from Fleur, stumbling on to the cot he had been sleeping on.

Looking up, he could see Fleur's eyes were glossed over. There was a look on her face that showed disbelief over what just happened. He could see her hand playing with edge of her jumper again, as she pulled loose strands of hair out of her flushed face. The cloak was still held tightly in the other hand.

"'Arry –" she started, her voice low and sweet and trembling.

"No." He cut her off. He could hardly look at her; but she looked so lovely in her dishevelled state, that he had caused, that he could hardly look away either.

She looked torn, like she wanted to say something, to explain everything, but for whatever reason she held back.

It mattered not to Harry, he didn't want to hear it. Not anymore.

His lips were burning, her taste still filling his mouth, and the maddening pressure of her touch was still playing at his mind. He couldn't think with her around. He wasn't sure he'd every think clearly again after what had just happened. He wanted nothing more than to continue where they had left off, to damn his guilt and the consequences, and take what he wanted. But he couldn't.

Daphne.

The name caused him to flinch. It was almost as if his mind took pleasure in torturing him by throwing more and more complications into his life.

Voldemort, Malfoy, Snape. He repeated the names in his mind over and over again. They gave him something to cling on to, a target to direct his anger and shame and regret, a familiar enemy that at least made some sense in his life.

He chuckled bitterly. It must have been some great cosmic joke that some of the only constants in his life, who gave him a semblance of control, were men he despised.

"Joyeux Noël, 'Arry."

An icy wall was built between them in that moment, and Harry didn't dare look up in case he saw it.

She left, and all Harry felt was the chill of loneliness having lost all of his warmth.

 **AN**

 **I'm back with an update! I hope you all enjoyed it. Some yay** **moments, and some definite nay moments. But such is the way of love and war. It will get better... eventually. Maybe a bit worse before better... I don't know...**

 **The next update will be very soon. This chapter was actually part of a much larger piece that I decided to break at this point because of size. It would have been almost too large for a single update. 20+ thousand words seemed a little extreme.**

 **This was part one of the holiday. Part two will be entirely Dumbledore and Harry, who have a lot to talk about.**

 **I'm very thankful for all the kind words you have to say about the story. Feel free to leave some more reviews, I appreciate them all. This was kinda one of the big chapters in regards to Harry and Fleur's relationship... sorta like Milestone 1, and I'm interested in what people's thoughts are to what went down. I also brought Charlie back, because I love Charlie. It's as simple as that. Also, let me know what you think about the other stuff that went down or you noticed.**

 **Until Next Time**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN1: This is essentially Pt.2 of my last update. If you haven't read chapter 13, go do that, it's a big one.**

* * *

After a fitful night of sleep over the events of the previous day, Harry woke Christmas morning to the feeling of his head being pecked repeatedly, and without mercy.

"Off Hedwig," he groaned shoving his friend off her temporary perch next to the trunk beside his bed.

Recovering with a grace only an avian species could possess, Hedwig swooped through the air to his other side, only to continue her pecking. She barked with irritation at his treatment of her.

"Fine," he huffed, putting on his glasses. "Merry Christmas, Hedwig. Now get off," he swatted at her again, only to be smacked over the head with her wing.

Climbing out of his bed, he reached to the floor and picked up the first articles of clothing he could find.

"Merry Christmas, mate!" Harry spun around to see Ron standing next to the door of the bedroom, beaming from ear-to-ear.

"Merry Christmas," Harry smiled at the sight of his best mate. He thought Ron would have taken the opportunity to sleep in this morning, especially with the late night they had yesterday. When Ron had returned to his room the evening past, Harry debriefed him on the conversation he had with his father, Kingsley and Mad-Eye. There really wasn't that much to be said, but Ron had somehow managed to stretch the conversation for hours. It was almost as if he was expecting something more.

"Mum wanted me to bring up the sweaters?" he lifted his hand, showing the packaged clothing that was the Weasley family tradition. He tossed one across the room to Harry who caught it.

"Let's see," Harry said pointing to the maroon colored jumper in his hand. He remembered the time Hermione told him he looked good in the color. Since that day, Ron's dislike for his annual Christmas jumpers disappeared.

Ron unfurled the clothing and flipped it around to reveal a golden Gryffindor lion proudly spread across the front, with a keepers Quidditch helmet sitting snugly around its head.

"And you?" The grin on Ron's face showed how pleased he was with his gift.

Ripping open the packaging, Harry was met with the familiar emerald green color Mrs. Weasley favoured for him. Unfolding the material, his body tensed in a visceral reaction to what was designed on its front.

Depicted firmly across its chest, all in white, was a wand and broom crossed over one another. In the spaces surrounding the interlocked images were a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a lily flower.

Tears prickled behind his eyes at the thoughtfulness of such a wonderful gift.

Biting his lip tightly, he looked up at his friend, who eye's shone with understanding. "Sirius once told Mum about the Marauders when she asked about why he became an animagus. She's been a little sentimental as of late, so…" he trailed off in his explanation, but Harry didn't need to hear anymore.

"Is your mum downstairs?" he asked.

"Yeah, just getting breakfast ready for when we all come down to open presents," Ron scratched the back of his hair.

Harry nodded, before pulling the jumper over his head and on top of the wrinkled shirt he had been wearing. Together, him and Ron gathered up their gifts (some wrapped better than others) and made their way downstairs.

"Oh, Ron – and Harry, you came down just in time. Go put the presents und-"

For once it was Harry cutting Mrs. Weasley off, as he pulled her into a loving embrace.

"Thank you," he choked out with emotion. "It's perfect."

"I'm glad you liked it," her eyes gleamed, and she patted his cheek tenderly.

"What!? No presents for me?" Harry turned to see Charlie peering under the tree having just arrived downstairs.

"We didn't know you were coming home, you dolt. Besides, you didn't get any for us," Ginny shot from the floor beside him.

"And what would I have gotten you? A miniature of a 'certain someone' just like you wanted when you were seven," Charlie called back good naturedly, mussing his hand through her hair. Ginny's face was beet red.

"We got you something, Charlie," Fred called in a too-sweet voice from the stairs. Though it could have been George wearing Fred's sweater.

The other twin, wearing George's sweater, pulled out a present that looked nothing if not suspicious. "Perfectly safe, we promise," he gave a toothy smile.

"Yeah, and a Horntail makes a good dancing partner," Charlie guffawed.

"From what I've heard they do… but only if you're Harry on a broom in the sky," this time it was Bill who spoke up, coming down the stairs with Fleur at his side.

Harry's eyes unconsciously sought out Fleur's as they had grown used to doing for a while now.

To his intense disappointment, her gaze was kept clearly from him. Harry had to remind himself that this was what he had chosen.

With everyone present and gathered around the tree, the opening of gifts began. Much of it was the usual, with bits of clothing and jewelry being exchanged. Bill had bought Fleur a beautiful silver chain, while Fleur gifted him a crystal earing in the shape of his existing dragon tooth one.

The twins had bought a number of gag gifts, and passed out different Christmas themed products they brought from their store. Perhaps the most impressive gifts they bought were for their mother, who received an eye-catching golden necklace and a brand new witches hat.

Arthur received countless muggle bits and bobs that would have looked more at home in a dumpster than on his lap, but he had never looked happier.

Fleur had opened her second gift from Harry, the pair of mittens made by Dobby. One was knitted in the red, white, and blue of the French flag, while the other was jammed pack with as many French tourist attractions the elf could fit on the material. Harry still hadn't figured out where Dobby had found that book on world tourism.

Fleur thanked him cordially as she did everyone else, if not a bit colder.

He had done the same when he opened Fleur's gift to reveal a Mokeskin pouch. It was a rather incredible gift; one he hadn't expected given their rarity. Hagrid had mentioned them once during one of their visits over tea. He was interested in where she managed to find it, but the likelihood of that conversation happening now was fairly low.

"Why's there garlic over here?" Bill asked from his side of the room.

"Is that a necklace?" George sniggered, using his wand to summon the item out of Bill's hand, much to Mrs. Weasley's disproval.

"It's from Luna," it took a lot of control not to burst out laughing at everyone's dumbfounded expressions. "She told me her dad was selling them, so I asked for one," he explained, although that wasn't the only reason he had purchased it.

"Barmy," Ron shook his head, while trying to slide a gift he had just unwrapped behind his back.

Unfortunately for Ron, Harry caught him.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Ron looked to him pleadingly, the tips of his ears burning red.

"Did Hermione buy you that?" He could see now that it was a book he was trying to cover.

"Uh, no," Ron answered, looking distinctly uncomfortable now.

"Who else, other than Hermione would buy _you_ a book?" Harry was very interested now, and Ron's embarrassment was only egging him on.

"Oi, Harry, you've got one left!" Charlie cut them off before Harry could pester Ron further, much to the redhead's relief. "It's definitely from some bird, the writing is way too nice to come from a bloke."

That was interesting, he couldn't think of a gift from anyone else that he hadn't opened already.

Taking the small package in his hands, it was wrapped in plain parchment, and the tag only contained his name and a simple Christmas greeting. However, that was the only simple thing about the gift.

"Bugger me," he could hear Ron utter from his shoulder when he took out what was inside, earning a resounding smack from his mother.

Bugger me was right. Harry had seen nothing like it before, not in any of the shops he had ever passed or visited. It was exquisite and inconceivably expensive. And he knew exactly from whom it was from.

In his hand rested a smaller replica of the floral arrangement he had made for Daphne on the night of Slughorn's party. The details and colors were near exact. Lilies, roses, and orchids, all intertwined with one another, were magically crafted together with stained class, precious metals, and glimmering gems. It was made to hang on a simple chain that could be adjusted around the wrist or neck.

How had she managed to commission something like this in such a short time?

Harry was speechless.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked the question everyone in the room wanted to know.

"Daphne," he replied simply without thinking.

And with that, Fleur's head shot around, and she genuinely looked at him for the first time that morning.

There was something in her eye. Something that cracked the ice between them, but when he blinked it was gone.

Before anything else could be said, a soft _pop_ from outside announced someone's arrival.

Arthur stood from his chair and went to the front door to greet the guest, "Oh, Albus! What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in, everyone is downstairs."

A genuine smile spread across Harry's face at the announcement of the headmaster's presence.

"Thank you, Arthur, although I'm afraid I shan't be staying long," Harry could hear Dumbledore's sage voice just before he walked into the room. "Ah, Charlie so good to see you again. I was pleasantly surprised when I heard of your arrival," he smiled.

"Thank you, sir, it's good to see you as well."

"Albus, you joined us just in time for breakfast," Mrs. Weasley called excitedly, pulling out a chair for the man.

"I might have time for a spot of tea and biscuit, but sadly I must be on my way with Harry soon."

He hadn't been expecting that. Were they going to have another lesson?

"Oh…" Molly looked lost for words for a moment, "what for? We've only just finished opening presents, he hasn't had the chance to eat yet," she sounded reluctant to let him go.

"There is some unfortunate business that was brought to my attention in regards to the Black Estate that must be dealt with swiftly. I'm sure Harry won't mind packing a few things for the road," he looked at him meaningfully.

"Oh, umm, yes I don't mind," Harry said, quickly putting away Daphne's gift back in its box as he stood.

The Weasley's gathered around the table for breakfast shortly after, chatting amiably with Dumbledore as he sipped away at his tea. Harry managed to eat a fair amount of food in that time, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't allow him leave until he took a stack of toast she wrapped up for him and promised to eat it all.

"Where are we really going, sir?" Harry asked when they were alone outside, walking down the path to the edge of the protective wards.

Dumbledore smiled at him, "We are in fact stopping by Grimmauld Place for a bit of business. But I fear my reasons for your company today are much more selfish."

"How so?"

Dumbledore stopped for a moment, a flash of emotion covering his face, "I felt the need for _this_ Christmas, my…" he paused, his countenance looking torn over something, "I wish for this Christmas to be special, and there is no one I would rather spend it with than you, Harry."

It was rare to see Dumbledore look so vulnerable, the age on his face apparent for all to see.

"Thank you, sir, I find myself thinking the same thing." Harry enjoyed his time with the headmaster more than anything, and with the events of yesterday, spending the day with Dumbledore sounded fantastic.

Taking his hand, they disappeared with a pop only to reappear outside Grimmauld Place. Upon entering, he quickly noticed it wasn't the same Grimmauld Place he remembered from months ago. Much of the dankness and darkness about the town house had disappeared, revealing a cleaner image that looked much more habitable. The grandeur that once belonged to the Black home was still lost to time, but with a good scrubbing it looked fairly presentable.

Kreacher must have taken his orders seriously… or at least Dobby forced him too.

The portrait of Walburga Black still hung on the wall, and the troll foot remained by the front door. But the aura about the house was significantly less malevolent.

"Kreacher has been rather diligent in his duties since the beginning of the year," Dumbledore remarked as they stepped into the meeting room the Order often used. "I figured it was your doing."

"It took some persuading, but he's not as awful as he used to be."

"It could simply be the master," Dumbledore hummed.

Harry wanted to argue, but knew that was likely the case. There was too much bitterness, too much history, between Kreacher and Sirius. Kreacher represented everything Sirius hated about his family; their blood supremacist beliefs, the desertion of their own son, and the abuse he suffered at their hands. And to Kreacher, he figured that Sirius represented the downfall and utter destruction of the House of Black. The relationship between the two was doomed before it even had a chance.

As if sensing their topic of conversation, a loud _pop_ accompanied the appearance of Kreacher.

"Halfblood master has returned," the old elf croaked, "Kreacher has followed Master's orders and cleaned Mistress' house."

"Thank you Kreacher, it is looking quite nice."

"Master comes home on Christmas, but Kreacher didn't have gift for master," there was an ugly mess of a smile on his face as the elf reached inside the tattered pillowcase that hung around his shoulders, and pulled out a single maggot. Pinched between his fingers, Kreacher held the maggot up to Harry as an offering.

Dumbledore started to chuckle, "I believe that is his gift to you, Harry," he explained, sensing Harry's confusion.

"Oh," his eyes nearly bugged out of his head, "er, thanks Kreacher but I'm okay." It was certainly the most unconventional gift he had ever received, outside those of the Dursley's.

"As Master commands," the old elf bowed, and put the maggot back in its original position with a cackle. "Kreacher has been finding dung man going through Master's things again," he peered up at Dumbledore as he spoke.

"I will speak to Mundungus as soon as I can," Dumbledore nodded his head to the elf, just before it disappeared.

"What was he talking about Mundungus for?" Harry asked suspiciously. He had a strong dislike for the man, given his role in the attack of the Dementors that nearly had him expelled.

"Mundungus has been perusing the wares of the Black family, so to speak," Dumbledore said, before raising a hand to placate Harry's growing temper, "He has been caught doing so before, and his punishment was not pleasant. We will have words, I promise you," Harry could see the truth behind Dumbledore's statement, and let the issue drop.

"Nobody is here today?" Harry asked, noting the eerie silence throughout the house. He had only ever been in Grimmauld Place when it was bustling with Order members.

"Everyone deserves a day of rest, especially on Christmas," Dumbledore's gloved hand tapped gently on the frame of the door as they passed through on the way to the kitchen.

"And what about you?" Harry asked, looking at the headmaster intently.

There was a tired smile hidden beneath his beard as he spoke, "My dreams of rest and retirement are long gone. My work is not done yet, perhaps when this is all over…" he sighed heavily as he took a seat near the table. "I had a particularly interesting conversation with Kingsley last night."

"He told you about what I found? I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't find you before boarding the train."

"Apologies, I was out of the castle the day of your departure," he tapped the strange hat he wore atop his head. "But yes, the evidence certainly doesn't stack up in Mr. Malfoy's favour."

"So he'll be stopped? He'll be arrested for being a Death Eater and for what he did to Katie?" Harry could hardly keep the vindication and excitement out of his voice.

"Perhaps one day," there was a sadness to his deep blue eyes, "but as far as Kingsley knows, the matter is in hand, and there is no clear evidence to report."

Harry was shocked. It took him a moment to process what he'd just heard, and to verify it wasn't imagined. Dumbledore surely was not allowing Malfoy to get away with his crimes. "You're not serious are you? Surely Malfoy can't get away with what he's done," he could hear some anger slipping into his tone.

"He cannot," Dumbledore agreed.

"But you just told Kingsley that there wasn't anything to report?" His was voice was incredulous.

"I did," he nodded.

"He tried to kill a student!" Harry shouted.

Dumbledore flinched at his words, but the look in his eye suggested that what he had just said was false.

"And – and what about Snape! I heard him plotting with Malfoy, he was talking about helping him."

"I certainly hope he was," the teasing lilt to Dumbledore's voice was infuriating.

"You can't honestly let the two of them walk around the castle like they aren't doing Voldemort's bidding," he stood up from his seat at this point.

"Settle down, Harry," Dumbledore's voice was firm, and Harry grudgingly complied. "Draco Malfoy is indeed a Death Eater and has been given a mission, though how committed he is to the cause remains to be seen. I commend you on uncovering this on your own."

"What is his mission?" Harry asked.

"Now, you see, we have reached the crux of the problem. Draco Malfoy's mission is to kill me," Dumbledore said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He continued before Harry could interrupt, "My life has been under threat from more vicious warriors and more cunning assassins. Draco Malfoy comes as no threat to me, but to the lives of others…"

"Katie?" Harry understood what Dumbledore was implying.

"Yes," his headmaster looked heartbroken with his answer. "Miss Bell was a tragic casualty of an attempt directed at my own life. The necklace was to be delivered to me, and thankfully she survived."

"Why is he not expelled?" The same question kept popping up in Harry's mind.

"If it was this alone, I would not hesitate to do so. But the issue remains, that the full extent of Mr. Malfoy's role at Hogwarts is unknown. Each attempt Professor Snape makes at uncovering more, he is rebuffed – yes, Harry, I set Severus with the task. Strange things are occurring within the walls of Hogwarts, and they are likely connected to Draco Malfoy."

"The portraits and the stairs…" Everything he had noticed in the past month was starting to make much more sense.

"You've noticed this as well. The portraits of Hogwarts have always bordered on bizarre and the stairs had a mind of their own, but not to the extent to which I have witnessed recently. I've called in an expert on the art of the castle, Alfred Greengrass, to confirm my suspicions."

Harry wondered what relation the man had to Daphne.

"He is Miss Greengrass' father," Dumbledore supplied as if reading his thoughts. "That is also not to mention other strange happenings, like the incident with the Acromantula." Harry scratched the scar on his jaw, remembering the encounter and the massive hole they found in Hogwarts' protections afterwards.

"Couldn't you just slip Malfoy some Veritaserum?" He asked hopefully.

"A possibility, but risky. Tom has devised methods to circumvent the potion, and he has likely passed them on to Mr. Malfoy. His aunt Bellatrix has taught him the skills of Occlumency as well. We must wait to see if the pressure of his task forces him to confide him Severus. The danger of removing Mr. Malfoy from the equation is too great. Another would simply take his place – an unknown we cannot track, and one we cannot possibly discover the full contents of their mission."

There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach. He didn't like this one bit. Too much could go wrong, too many innocents could get hurt, and they were relying much too heavily on Draco to crack.

"Why did you bring me here, sir? Does it really have to do with the Black Estate?" Harry asked, the curiosity of their presence at Grimmauld Place getting the better of him.

"It does in a way, yes. The estate is yours as we have established already, passed down to you as Sirius' heir," he started. "The matter I wish to speak to you about, is transferring the secret of its location to you."

"To me? Why?" He didn't understand Dumbledore's reasoning behind this sudden switch.

"It…" Dumbledore hesitated with a frown, his gloved hand twitching by his side, "It was a matter that needed to be addressed upon the coming of your majority. The house legally belongs to you, and I thought it appropriate to pass the secret on as well."

On the surface, Dumbledore's reasoning was sound and to most that would be enough. But Harry found the request odd. Sirius had been the legal owner of the house as well, but Dumbledore was still the secret keeper during that time. Of course, Sirius was an escaped convict on the run, who's mental health was in question and had a history of being rash. So perhaps the request was genuine.

But something still felt wrong about this.

"Of course," Harry nodded, though not without hesitation. He would accept being the secret keeper, only because he did not have a good enough reason to refuse.

"Good," Dumbledore looked relieved, some tension leaving his sloped shoulders. "Now the process is much less demanding having already cast the spell," Dumbledore explained as he pulled out his wand, "It is still a complex bit of spellwork, but one that can be done fairly quickly."

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore cleared the furniture to one side of the room.

"It requires us to stand at the center – or the heart – of the house. Luckily most old magical homes are situated in ways such that the heart is found in an open and convenient space, rather than somewhere like the privy."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the image of him and Dumbledore standing together in the bathroom.

"The sensation might be a touch uncomfortable, but it passes quickly," Dumbledore warned before gently weaving his wand through the air, tracing invisible patterns he must have committed to memory after hours of study and practice.

A low chant of latin was uttered underneath his breath, many of the words unfamiliar to Harry despite years of exposure to the language.

The further along Dumbledore worked through the spell, he could hear a hint of strain leak into his voice. Beads of sweat dripped down the lines of his face, his eyes closed behind his spectacles be some unseen force.

It took a moment longer, but suddenly whatever pressure that was pressing in on Dumbledore extended its reach to the room around them. The walls began to shake, the floor beneath them creaked as if on the verge of collapsing. Everything began to blur as the kitchen swirled around them. Thin strings of light came shooting in from each direction, connecting in a glowing ball at the tip of Dumbledore's wand.

The intensity of the chant increased, Dumbledore's wand twirling faster than his eyes could track. The strain of the spell looking to be too much for the wizard, his entire body beginning to shake.

Before Harry had the chance to move and support him, an unexpected pain in his forehead halted his movement. What started as a small prick, slowly evolved into a stabbing sensation that threatened to split his skull.

Throughout all this, the ball of light floated away from Dumbledore's wand and across the room towards Harry. The mass of magic and energy touched the source of his pain, instantly killing the sensation as it assimilated with his body. His mind was immediately overwhelmed with knowledge of the secret, tendrils of magic pulling and connecting him with each and every member imparted with its contents. There were more names than he had expected, the majority of which he did not recognize. The Order ran deeper than he had been led to believe.

The room drew still, and Harry and Dumbledore both collapsed to the floor.

Panting, he looked over at his mentor, "What happened to 'a touch uncomfortable' and 'less demanding.'" He could hardly bring himself to stand.

"Would you have been so eager to do it had I told you the truth," he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

Helping the old wizard to his feet, Harry asked, "Is that all for today?"

Readjusting his spectacles to the crook of his nose, Dumbledore shook his head. "There is one more place I wish to take you, a place that is rather special to me," he leaned slightly against the wall as he spoke. "I need a moment of respite, Harry, if you don't mind taking us there."

"Where is it, sir?"

Dumbledore gestured to his eyes, and Harry knew what to expect. The image of an iron-gate leading down a rocky path along the coast slipped gently into his mind.

* * *

The sea air was pleasant to his nose as the two of them walked together. The chill coming off the sea would have been biting had it not been for Dumbledore's warming charm fending off the worst of it.

They had been travelling along the path past the gate for a while now. A beautiful view of the choppy waves crashing against the rocky shore extended as far as the eye could see. Deep grey strokes were painted across the sky, the sun hiding behind one of its brushes at the moment, suggesting the day was later on in its cycle than it actually was.

The silence they shared now was amiable, after having been chatting about Harry's time at school. It came as no surprise to the man that since the start of the year and their lessons together, Harry had little difficulty with any of the practical work assigned in class. Theory still wasn't his strong suit, but papers were never a thing Harry enjoyed. Potions was the only class he breezed by, thanks mostly to the information stored inside the Prince's book.

A bend in the path slowed their pace, bringing them near the edge of a drop-off to the water below. Dumbledore pulled his wand and tapped it twice on a completely ordinary looking stone wedged into the ground. But what happened next was anything but ordinary.

Mist and sprays of foam from the water below hung in the air, the magic of the spell collecting as much moisture as possible into a veil of water that slowly descended upon the earth. It flowed down the curve of the cliff and washed layers of dirt away to its precipice. But rather than falling back down to shore, the murky liquid continued to flow down some invisible path. Suspended in the air, the water transformed into an earthen bridge, one Harry would have been hesitant to follow if Dumbledore hadn't already started on its way.

The ground was solid beneath his feet despite its thinness. But the fear of falling into the water far below kept Harry moving quickly with his focus directly in front of him, not daring to look down over its edges.

The pathway led to a small fissure in the face of the cliff that likely would have gone unnoticed for a millennia had they not been led directly to it.

A small wooden bench sat at its entrance, behind it lay a rock-lined garden filled with rows and rows of pink flowers. In weather like this they shouldn't have been alive, but setting foot in the small shelter he could feel the magic soaked deep into the rocky walls.

Dumbledore could be seen bent over the garden with his ungloved hand brushing over the blushing petals.

"I didn't know you took up gardening," Harry said as Dumbledore took a seat beside him on the bench.

"It is one of the many hobbies I have picked up over the years," Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice carried by the soft breeze. "I didn't particularly enjoy Herbology when I attended Hogwarts, but I found non-magical plants to be much more pleasing to work with – less chance of being eaten by them."

Looking back over his shoulder, Harry noticed the garden was organized in a very particular way. The flowers were lined evenly, except for a single row that had less than the others. It looked almost as if room was left for the addition of others in the future.

"I planted my first nearly a century ago. My family used to come vacation here every year. Our visits became less frequent upon my father's imprisonment, until they stopped entirely when my mother died…"

Harry had come to recognize these moods from Dumbledore. The one's where he was trapped in his past. They had become increasingly frequent as of late. A story was attached to each one, as if Dumbledore was unburdening himself from some invisible weight.

"I was always on the more sentimental side," he started to laugh suddenly, "with Aberforth being the way he is, one of us had to be." Dumbledore took off his glasses to wipe despite them not being dirty. "A pink carnation for each one. The first for my mother and another for my father – we never found out when exactly he passed away. The cottage we stayed at was gone by then, but I found somewhere else to keep them."

The quite literal hole-in-the-wall they were sitting in felt all the more sacred all of a sudden, almost as if his presence was tarnishing such hallowed ground.

"This is Arianna's," his voice was thick as he led Harry to the third flower from the top. "I know them all by name. Your mother and father's," he pointed to two that sat in the center of a collection of others, "the Longbottom's…"

Harry nearly missed the ones for Neville's parents, struggling to tear his eyes away from his parents. He thought it moving to see that the stem of their two flowers had grown to connect as one.

"A row for the McKinnon family." Harry remembered hearing from Mad-Eye about the butchering of their entire family, by a group of Death Eaters led by Travers.

"Peter Pettigrew," Harry looked to a solitary flower sitting between his parents and Neville's, "for the loss of the boy he was, not the man he became." Harry could see a few petals flattened against its side, looking like at one point it had nearly been pulled out. "Cedric Diggory," he could see a slight tremble in Dumbledore's hand as he pointed to one of the last few. "Sirius Black," the flower of his godfather sat in the last and shortest row.

"These are –"

"All those I cared for, who's time passed before my own."

"How many…?"

There were so many flowers. Too many.

"I've never gone back and counted. They all meant too much to me, to simply be a number. I can picture each one perfectly in my mind, their shape, their shade, their smell; but to count them would be too painful for an old man like me."

Something slipped down the edge of his beard.

"How do you keep going – so many people… so much death…"

Dumbledore turned to look at him them, his blue eyes watery but firm. "The only thing we can do is move forward. We honour them, we cherish them, but what good were their lives if we do not carry on with our own to make the world a better place in their memory." His gloved hand lingered tenderly on the one he named his sister's.

He stood slowly and made to sit beside Harry again.

"It is not a pleasant thought, my boy, but you have been tending your own garden just as I have my own. You have lost much and more than I had at your age; but unlike myself who basked in my own misery and made terrible mistakes, you have been brave, courageous, and strong – a true Gryffindor."

"You once told me that despite our similarities, there was a reason I was sorted into Gryffindor and Voldemort to Slytherin," Harry remarked.

"In every way that truly matters, Harry. Tom Riddle has never dealt with true loss; he has never felt the pain of caring for someone so deeply that you wish it had been you who died in their place. But that is what makes us strong. It is what carries us through the fight, even when darkness surrounds us."

Tears were streaming freely down Dumbledore's face when he turned back to Harry after a moment of silence. "The war to come will not be kind," his shoulders were shaking as he spoke. "There will come a time when death –"

"Professor," Harry tried to interrupt, a feeling of unknown dread curling around his throat like the fingers of death.

"You must listen, Harry – please," Dumbledore almost pleaded, his voice desperate and filled with pain.

"There will be a time when those closest, and who mean most to you will perish. You must not let their deaths destroy you. You must not stop. You will feel your heart break and your soul shatter, like they will never be put whole again. But you must fight on, and do what needs to be done."

"Of – of course, sir." This was all too much for him to take in at once. Why was Dumbledore speaking as if they were all doomed to die? "And you'll be beside me each step of the way? Together, we'll defeat Voldemort, just like you said we would."

Their eyes connected then. Dumbledore's were filled with too many emotions to decipher.

"Always."

And Harry believed him.

"Professor?" Harry caught Dumbledore's attention. "What do you know about love?"

It was an innocent question, but one uttered with such complexity.

"I have loved many over my life, as well as a number of different places and things. But that was not what you were asking, was it? I suspect you speak of the romantic kind." A spark of something returned to his eyes.

Harry nodded, none of the usual feelings of shyness one would expect from such a topic were present.

"I had loved once… I suppose I still do. It is not something that fades away easily," his gaze was far away as he spoke, looking out to the sun starting its descent out over the horizon. "But not in the usual sense of the word. I tend to do things differently. It was not sexual in nature – but rather a connection of intellectual intimacy between equals. We challenged each other, pushed ourselves to the limit and beyond, and made a great number of discoveries."

"Like what?" Harry's curiosity got the better of him, much to Dumbledore's amusement.

"I suppose I can show you a trick or two," his wand was out and pointed to the setting sun.

He heard the headmaster mutter the words _Mutadonum Natura_ , and a beam of golden light shot out of his wand and towards the sky. The clouds began shift and swirl before disappearing entirely, and the radiant energy emitted by the sun surged towards them. Like the lumos spell in a dimly lit room, the sun was entirely too bright for its position in the sky, and heat better suited for the dying days of summer washed over them.

"You can change the weather?" There was no other way to describe what he had just experienced.

"Oh, did we ever wish we could," Dumbledore laughed heartily. "We slaved away for months trying to do as you just said, but instead we devised a spell that could only augment what was already present. It is a false recreation, lacking the wild power of true nature, but an incredible enough finding on its own."

"Is there anything else?" There were times when Harry wished he could spend the entire day picking Dumbledore's brain and seeing what genius lay beneath.

"Of course, perhaps I can show you something you could perform without difficulty," he said before casting a patronus, the musical cry of a Phoenix sang through the air. "We experimented quite a bit with the patronus charm and its many uses."

As he spoke, his magical projection of the legendary bird slowly dispersed before forming into a tight ball in the air in front of him.

"Beyond its corporeal form, it can shield in whichever way you wish," the ball grew and shrunk in size as he spoke, "they can carry messages to certain locations, and properties of the charm can be used in transportation." He cancelled the spell then.

"It's brilliant."

"Oh, we knew we were," Dumbledore admitted without a hint of arrogance. "We figured we were invincible, and as a result our dreams got the better of us."

"What happened?"

"Tragedy." The word was sharp on his tongue, regret lingering in the air. "Things were never the same between us."

Those words were the last Harry wanted to hear after recent events. "Was there ever any hope?" His words were almost fearful.

"Of course, Harry, when love is concerned there is always hope. Love is rarely ever simple. Love is complex, and much is hidden and lost in its translation. It is unexpected – one often does not realize they are in love until it's too late. It can be a frightening experience, something that tears you apart. It is a curse that makes us do things beyond our imagination, but something we cannot live without."

He wasn't sure if that made him feel any better.

"Fear not, Harry. Good often comes from bad, and it is always worth to give love a chance."

The glint of understanding in his deep blue eyes made Harry wonder if he knew more than what he was letting on. Knowing Dumbledore, it was very likely.

"Speaking of love," Dumbledore continued, "I had heard there is little found between you and our new Minister."

Harry laughed, before diving into a retelling of his encounter from the previous evening.

"Rufus has always been a Ministry man. It was only a matter of time before he sought you out for aid. I fear your popularity as overtaken mine, my boy. I might just have to start handing out brochures again," he added with a cheeky grin.

"Yes, well, Minister Scrimgeour should try next time not to piss off the person he is trying to recruit," Harry huffed. "He called me Dumbledore's man, you know?"

The man in question looked intrigued by this. "In certain circles a statement like that could be rather scandalous."

He smiled at that. "I told him that I was my own man," Harry admitted.

"A finer answer you could not have given." The man looked at him with such pride, that Harry hastily had to look away to keep his composure.

"Before we go, sir," Harry started, noticing how low the sun hung in the sky now. Streaks of pinks and purples were splayed out on the canvas that was the open sky. "There has been something I wanted to ask you for quite a while."

It had gone on long enough at this point, and it didn't seem like there would ever be a better opportunity.

"Throughout our lessons, I've gotten the feeling that we have been building towards something. Like there is a point to all the memories we have been watching, and the history we have been discussing." Dumbledore eyed him critically as he spoke. "And when we visited the orphanage I remember asking how Voldemort managed to stay alive all these years, and you told me we would discuss it later. All this – all we have done so far is because it has something to do with how Voldemort cheating death, hasn't it?"

The only sound between them in that space of time was the crashing of waves.

"I have passed many of my own personal items to you over the year, Harry, do you remember which were the first two?" It wasn't what he expected Dumbledore to say, but he answered it nonetheless.

"It was a book written by your father, and _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_."

Dumbledore hummed to himself, thinking over something in his head.

The mood between them was suddenly very serious.

"Tell me, Harry, what do you know of Horcruxes?"

 **AN2:**

 **Here it is, very soon as promised. For all you Dumbledore and** **Harry lovers out there, I hope you enjoyed their little Christmas field trip.**

 **A lot of heavy material was covered, and some important shit for the future was mentioned as well.**

 **Horcruxes have finally been introduced as well. Took long enough if you ask me.**

 **Back at Hogwarts next chapter. There should be 2-3 more before the climax of this arc is reached, and boy am I excited to get there. A lot of people's questions, concerns, and ideas will come to a head then. It will be interesting... that's all I'm going to say.**

 **I wanted to acknowledge a well put together review I received on the last chapter:**

 **It mentioned the continuation of Ginny drama, which is something that might have been misinterpreted from my original intent. Ginny's attempts at arousing Harry at dinner were soundly ignored by Harry. It was a way in which to show that she is still actively pursuing Harry, but her childish crush has no place in Harry's life. To put it simply, Harry's story has grown beyond that of Ginny, and that is what I was attempting to convey.**

 **The review also mentioned how Harry was getting angsty over being a target. When examining Harry's thoughts in that moment, Harry's angsty thoughts about being a target, were his self justifications as to why what he was doing with Fleur was wrong. In that moment, he was looking for any reason to stop what he was doing, because deep down he felt it was wrong. The target thing was not necessarily his true feelings on the matter, it was just what he was doing to trick himself to stop snogging Fleur. Also, I do my best to avoid as much tropeyness as possible, and I feel that I have built Harry's character over the course of the story into something believable and different at this stage given what he's been through and learnt. Any angst or 'it has to be me' feelings towards Voldemort and the prophecy are related to Harry's quest for vengeance. As shown in his talk with the Minister, he doesn't care about the public or any sort of acknowledgement. He just wants to murder Voldemort for what he's done, even if he needs to go down with him. It's like a suicide mission to him.**

 **Anyway, I really enjoyed the review, as well as the others I received. Feel free to leave some more, because there was some interesting stuff this chapter. I'll try to get the next update out as fast as possible. There's stuff I've had planned for months now that we are approaching, and I really want to get that stuff out. So here's to me keeping a well paced update schedule.**

 **Until Next Time**


	15. Chapter 15

Hogwarts had been nothing but a never ending source of frustration for Harry since his return. He'd thought that after such an eventful Christmas, returning to Hogwarts would bring some sense of normality to his life, but he had been wrong.

The remainder of the holidays spent at the burrow had seen Harry brooding heavily over what he had learnt about Horcruxes with Dumbledore. Split souls. Immortality. It all seemed so mad, and it only made Voldemort that much more dangerous… that much more difficult to kill.

To think he could have a number of these, locked away and hidden from the world to ensure his survival, it sent a shiver down his spine whenever it came to mind.

Thankfully, for him at least, he hadn't seen much of Fleur upon his return. Her and Bill had only popped in occasionally to visit, and it was not difficult for Harry to busy himself with something during these times.

Ron and the rest of the Weasley's had certainly noticed something strange was going on, what with his almost self-imposed isolation, but he'd ignored any attempt to get him to open up.

Hogwarts was supposed to be his release. It was meant to help him escape the inquisitive eyes and probing questions of those around him, but instead it only added to the stress tearing away at his already precarious psyche. He was on the verge of snapping. What a sight it would be, for Harry Potter, the Chosen One, to break down one day in the middle of class. Snape would enjoy it, he had no doubt, as would Malfoy and all his cronies, if the boy actually decided to show up to class one day.

He'd hardly seen Dumbledore either, in the month or so since the start of term. The man had been disappearing with hardly a word, his only instructions being to acquire Slughorn's memory on what he had told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes.

It did not sound like a terribly difficult task to accomplish, but in reality he wasn't sure if he would ever extract it from the professor. Not because the man was protecting it fiercely from him, but because it seemed as if the man was never alone.

Since he had been given this new mission, each attempt to speak with the man was hindered by meetings with students and fellow professors, his grading, his own research, and outings with former students and old acquaintances. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have thought Slughorn a Seer who had foreseen the motive behind his intentions.

Perhaps more distracting than anything else in his life at the moment, however, was Daphne.

He was embarrassed to admit that he had spent a fair amount of time fantasizing different ways they would reunite once back at Hogwarts. One had been a fairly dramatic thought (similar to what would be seen in a trashy romance novel), of the two of them running into each other's arms from across the Great Hall and embracing passionately in front of the entire school. Another had featured an intimate meeting atop the Astronomy Tower where they spoke of their deepest fears and hearts desires. There had even been one where they snuck into Snape's office for a good snog, but that was mostly for the material Harry could hold over the professor's head if ever needed. Merlin knew Snape would never be able to work in there again with the knowledge that a Potter had wrought such passion in the same vicinity.

Daphne's gift felt like it was burning a hole through his chest from where it currently resided. He had taken to carrying it around inside his Mokeskin pouch amongst other things he could not do without.

This only made the pain he felt that much more deep, like someone had stabbed him in the stomach, throbbing with each breath he took. Her distance had been a sharp slap in the face. Every note was returned without a reply, and every attempt to get her alone was barred by Tracey. Blaise feigned ignorance despite the sympathy in his dark eyes, and Astoria could hardly look at him without fidgeting like a child caught misbehaving by their parents.

He was incensed with the ridiculousness of the situation – why they wouldn't tell him what was going on. Had he done something wrong? He likely had.

Each day, looking across the hall as if the two of them were on opposite ends of the earth separated by a vast ocean had been too much for him, and he had taken to eating his meals in the kitchen.

He could still feel the phantom touches of her caress and the ghost of a kiss on his lips when he closed his eyes. But much to his shame, these feelings would always shift into those from a lowly bedroom where heat gave way to the chill of night. Was this his punishment for what he had done, and succumbing to his selfish wants?

The echoing sound of his footsteps down the empty corridor reminded him of his solitude, where previously there had been another _clipping_ in syncopation with his own. The void at his side reminded him of the last of these he had gone to.

He had purposefully looked to arrive late, not wanting to spend an entire evening where he knew she would be. A well placed hex had Crabbe and Goyle sprouting flower out their ears in the middle of a demonstration for defense, and it was enough to earn him a detention for that evening. A sore wrist from scrubbing cauldrons was well worth arriving at the Slug Club just in time for what he wanted to accomplish.

"-sure to let your father know I remember that story, dear boy, he was embarrassed for weeks afterwards. Of course he's moved up quite high now, working hard as a part of the Wiz-"

Harry could hear Slughorn's boisterous voice over the din of polite conversation emanating from his office. It appeared that his presence alone was enough to quieten the dinner party, as Slughorn and many of his guests stopped what they were doing as he stepped through the door.

"Harry! So good of you to come!" His chins wobbled, and the rest of his fleshy face was red from drink. "I hadn't thought you would," he stood as he spoke, abandoning the conversation he was holding with Ernie, who smiled at him in greeting.

"Yes, well luckily it seems that Professor Snape's desire to be rid of me outweighed his desire for you to have the cleanest cauldrons in all of England," Harry smiled shaking Slughorn's hand.

"I'll have to speak to Severus about that, keeping me away from such fine company. Not that Ernie here was not a delight to talk to."

Slughorn led Harry over to where he had been sitting before.

"Of course not, sir." Ernie didn't seem to take any offence. "I fear it's getting a bit late. I promised Zacharias that I would come watch them train tomorrow morning – big game coming up and all that. It was a pleasure being here tonight, professor."

Ernie left after that, with many others taking his departure as a cue, and starting to trickle out after him. Harry's eyes caught Daphne's for a moment as she was leaving with Blaise, but she quickly averted them, her pacing quickening suddenly forcing Blaise to hurry after her with what looked like an expression of worry.

"A shame you couldn't have joined us earlier, Harry," Slughorn said from his side while waving to the departing students, "we had a delightful pineapple cream pie for desert. But perhaps a nightcap could do us some good."

He stood once again with a great huff, and moved to a cabinet brimming with more alcohol than Harry thought he could ever drink in his life.

"Now let's see…" Harry heard a grunt from where Slughorn was bent over, "… I thought I'd left it here – for special occasions…" The _clinking_ and _clanking_ of glass accompanied the professor's search through his drinking stores. "Again?" he sounded almost irritated, returning with a bottle of unopened wine.

The cork was removed and glasses were filled with a simple flick of his wand, the wine already chilled through the wonders of magic.

"I had hoped to share a wonderful bottle of oak-matured mead I received as a gift for Christmas but it looks to have disappeared. I know Albus enjoys his mead, I might have shared some with him. But unfortunately someone has been stealing from my collection this year – I asked Argus to keep an eye on my office, but the man is as useless as always." His frustrations were relieved by a deep sip of his wine, a content sigh passing underneath his large moustache.

"It's fine professor, I actually wasn't expecting any food or drink at all," Harry stated.

"Then why come at all?" The man was jested with a hearty laugh, clearly a lover of both those things.

"I actually wanted to ask you something," Harry kept his voice even as he spoke, none of his hesitance or anticipation leaking through.

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"

"Sir, I wondered what you know about… Horcruxes."

The man flinched violently upon hearing the word. The glass slipped from his meaty hand and tumbled to the floor, leaving behind a red mess that would surely stain.

"Where did you here that word?" His voice was sharp, and hard, and entirely unlike anything he'd ever heard leave his mouth before. "To speak of such _evil_ – nothing good ever comes from such things."

"But you've spoken about them before…" Harry was now treading through uncharted waters. He had taken a leap, and there was no going back from this point.

"You – How...? _Dumbledore_ ," the name sounded like a curse from his mouth. "Dumbledore showed you that memory. It's not true… it's not – I swear it!" His babbling was lined with fear, and he stumbled back away from Harry.

"He did."

Slughorn's gaze was teary and filled with horror.

"He showed me the memory of what Voldemort did to you." Slughorn shuddered at the name. "He showed me how an evil man took advantage of your good graces, a professor who cares deeply for his students and does whatever he can to see them succeed. He fooled you. What professor would have thought a boy of only sixteen capable of such things?"

"I should have known! I should never have gone looking for such knowledge… more so to pass it on to a student. It's my fault, all of it!"

"Dumbledore told me that at one time you were young and ambitious, how you delved into deeper magic looking for power and recognition."

"I did… I was young… foolish… but I stopped – I stopped when my sweet Muriel died. My Muriel and our dear sweet Lily." He stood there beaten and broken, looking half a corpse his life force drained in his grief.

"How could you have known Tom Riddle would be so different than yourself? To you it was all academic. There's no shame in that, professor, no shame at all," Harry's voice was soft, but it was enough to halt Slughorn's backward retreat. To ground the man he knew back in reality, and away from the past.

"Shame?" his voice bubbled with harsh emotion, "All I feel is shame – shame and horror… to know that all those who died because of what I told him."

"You can fix it, sir. Help me bring down the monster who is truly to blame. Help me defeat Voldemort. I just need the memory, and together we can avenge my mother," Harry gently took his hand in his own, the mentioning of his mother bringing a certain steel back to Slughorn's eyes.

"Together, sir," Harry reminded.

"Together," Slughorn repeated, his eyes far away in a memory so tragic and painful that it brought him to tears.

Only one was needed – collected in a crystal phial, and he felt the weight of the war lessen slightly on his shoulders.

* * *

He could feel the phial rolling about in his pocket as he moved throughout the hallways, reminding him of what he'd just done and where he needed to go next.

To leave Professor Slughorn in such a state had left him uneasy, but the man had requested that he be allowed to retire for the night. Harry was certain he wouldn't be getting much rest, and guilt crept up inside him for the suffering he caused the man, and for ruining what must have been a pleasant evening before his untimely arrival.

But there were more important things to be done. Finally, after a month, he had gotten what he was looking for. A sense of self-satisfaction settled about him, as he rounded the third floor corridor that had been closed off back in his first year. Much of the irritation that had plagued him was peeling off like a second skin, leaving him feeling lighter and with a slight spring to his step.

In recent weeks, his foul mood had started to affect him. He had become increasingly reckless in much of his practice in the hopes of ridding himself from his feelings of uselessness. One incident that had been particularly serious, had him admitted to the Hospital Wing for an evening. In the diary of a French charms master from the eighteenth century passed on from Dumbledore, he'd described a defensive spell devised to make constructs of ice that burned. To concentrate on a spell composed of two such opposing factors was enormously difficult. In a moment of rashness, where his mind wandered dangerously from his spellwork, flames shot out of his wand that licked with an arctic chill. Nothing he tried could extinguish his aberrant spell, and he was forced to smother the flames with his cloak. Madam Pomfrey was not pleased when she saw his hands.

The sound of a distant scuffle and harsh screaming brought him out of his thoughts, and immediately sent his feet in its direction.

Jogging around corners, following the sound of something that was surely not good, he picked up his pace with a sense of urgency.

The closer her drew, the more distinct the voices were as they hit his ears. He could hear the faint echo of whimpering, like a small animal trapped and fearing for its life. But more disturbing, he could hear the almost delusional slurring of a voice that tickled his mind with familiarity, and the sound of spell fire impacting against the cold stone of the castle walls.

He rounded the corner at pace and froze. He blinked.

"Cho?"

He blinked again.

"Go away. Go away!" the figure screeched.

There was a second, hardly a heartbeat, where he didn't believe what he was seeing. How could he, when cowering before him was a pair of first years in green trimmed robes, white faced, tear streaked, and trembling like leaves on a tree in the wind. Towering over top the terrified children, was an enraged and dishevelled Cho Chang, who was swinging her wand around like she was swatting a horde of invisible flies.

The magic around her was erratic and extremely volatile, shooting off her in surges and sparks that fizzled about the hall around them, like a display of fireworks gone wrong. Harry was hesitant in approaching her, in fear of what she might do to him in her current state... or worse what she might do to the children.

This was emotional magic, untamed and entirely accidental. It was wild, and it was dangerous.

"Cho!" He shouted, hoping to catch her attention.

She spun around at the sound of his voice, her wand waving dangerously. A startling blue spell burst from its tip, smashing against a suit of armour the children were hiding behind.

High pitch screams were all he heard, as fragments of armour shot out like shrapnel.

His hesitance disappeared immediately, as he moved himself between Cho and the children, who to his great relief remained unharmed.

"Cho! Stop, this is mad," he pleaded, his wand slipping into his hand.

Her eyes were crazed, her hair an oily mess, the beautiful young lady he once had a crush on was nowhere to be seen.

" _Little snakes, little snakes, hiding with their fangs."_

Her voice cooed in a sing-song tone that chilled him to the bone with its resemblance to another mad witch he had once encountered.

" _Sneaky, sneaky, little snakes, they move fast."_

"Cho, you need to stop this. Put down your wand," his tone was warning. There was a prickling feeling at the base of his neck, one that warned him that what was to come likely would not be pretty.

" _They say they're nice, but we don't forget the past."_

"Put the wand down." It was going to be his last warning. Her hand was shaking, and as she stepped forward the unmistakeable scent of alcohol assaulted his senses.

" _We find the snakes who cause us pain, and then go BANG!"_

"NO!"

There was a flash of blue as children cried.

 _CLANG_

The shield he had hastily thrown up did enough to block the concussive blast barrelling towards the first years. Stone exploded from the ceiling overhead, and dust settled in the air around them, all from the impact of the ricocheted spell.

Through the floating debris, he could see another halo of blue light and quickly deflected it down the corridor with a flick of his wand, the volatility of the spell sent shockwaves up his arm. Turning back, he had no time to brace himself from the spell that emerged from the falling rubble towards him, and was blasted backwards into the wall.

His head snapped back with a _crunch_ , impacting against the unforgiving slabs of Hogwarts. Blinding pain shot down his spine, and his vision darkened to only a misty haze. He fought to remain conscious, but the appeal to surrender to the encroaching darkness was far too tempting.

It was only the soft sobbing of children, and a chance touch of the intact phial in is pocket that grounded him in reality.

Grunting and stumbling to his feet, he was able to make out the figure of Cho stalking toward her prey.

It was a spell he hadn't used in quite a while, but was more reliable than any, that brought it all to an end.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

The red bolt of light struck Cho from behind, knocking her forward and her wand into the air and into his outstretched hand.

Harry forced himself onwards to go and find the Slytherin first years. Kicking stray pieces of armour out of his way, he found them curled up against each other, with their heads hidden in the others shoulder.

"It's alright," he breathed out softly. Despite this, the two children still flinched at his voice. Twisting around to look back, Harry saw that Cho had vanished. "She's gone," he told them while stuffing her wand in his pocket. It was hot to the touch and entirely uncomfortable in his grasp.

His words did not appear to be registering with them, the trauma of what they had just experienced overriding their senses.

He saw a small trickle of blood coming down from behind the girl's ear. The boy jerked as if to protect her when Harry raised his wand. He lifted a hand to appease the boy, making sure to keep his motions smooth and gentle. Hostility and mistrust were gleaming from his eyes, doubting Harry's intentions, but he was in no position to deny him in that moment.

There was a shallow gash hidden amongst her dark hair, blood plastering it to the side. It was a simple enough procedure, but nevertheless the girl appeared to be immensely grateful.

Looking down at the two, covered in dust and sweat with their knees tucked up against their chests in a position of utter vulnerability, he felt his heart break. Why did two children, so innocent and young have to go through something like this?

What had happened to Cho?

He shook his head; he didn't have time to think about that right now. He needed to get the kids somewhere safe before anything else.

"Come on then," he waved at the two Slytherins to follow him.

The girl scampered up to her feet and rushed up closely to his side, clinging tightly to the ends of his robes.

He cursed to himself in irritation upon seeing a large tear running down his side; they had been one of his newer pairs of dress robes.

"Where are you taking us?" Suspicion oozed out of the boy's voice, like liquid from a sponge, as he followed along slowly; clearly torn between wanting to stay by his friend's side and maintaining his distance from Harry.

"The dungeons," Harry answered, and pulled back a faded tapestry to reveal a shortcut that would hasten their journey. "Your prefects in the common room will want to know what happened, and they'll be able to find Professor Snape." He only hoped that somehow Snape didn't blame him for this.

"How do you know where our common room is." It was more of an accusation than anything else.

"I have my ways," Harry tapped his nose with a smirk, while trying his best to sound as much like Dumbledore as he could. It was something the old man would have done for amusement. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, I'm not one for pranks – that was why father."

"That's not fair." The childish stomp of his foot, and the petulance in his treble voice was entirely too cute.

"Are you Harry Potter?" The young girl spoke up for the first time since his rescue of them. From below, her face looked up at his filled with admiration reserved only for a hero.

He didn't know why, but the question brought a genuine smile to his face. "The one and only," he responded.

"See, that's how he knows," she turned to her friend who was now walking along Harry's other side, "he's Harry Potter. He knows everything!"

Harry had to cough to cover up his laugh.

The rest of their travels through the halls and the elaborate maze that was the Hogwarts dungeons, was fairly entertaining with the two youths coming up with different theories as to how he discovered their common room. Each was more ridiculous than the next, but none were as absurd as the truth to how he discovered it. He still wasn't sure how he and Ron had managed to successfully pull off impersonating Crabbe and Goyle.

Standing in front of the blank stretch of wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms, Harry smirked at the expression of frustration on the boy's face at having proof that their secret was exposed. Harry remembered back to when he used to put a childish importance on such things.

The little girl hugged him tightly around the waist, but her friend remained still.

"My parents don't like you," he said. The statement was as out of place, as him standing there with two Slytherin first years.

"Oh, er, that's unfortunate." He was lost as to how he was supposed to respond to that.

"I think they're wrong."

Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"What's your name?"

"Marcus," the boy responded, fidgeting slightly as Harry eyed him closely.

"Well, Marcus, thank you. That means a lot."

The boy – Marcus – nodded uncertainly and blushed.

"I'm Helen!" the girl chirped from the side with a toothy smile.

"Of course you are," he grinned right back, before watching them enter their common room hand-in-hand.

He let out a deep sigh and rested against the cold stone wall for a moment to catch his breath. The back of his head and neck throbbed with pain from where he had impacted the wall, but he'd dealt with worse in his life.

A moment was all he gave himself before leaving. He did not want to be down here when word started to spread of the events of this evening. He needed to get up to the Headmaster's Office to tell Dumbledore about what had just happened and to pass on the memory he collected – hopefully he would be there tonight.

The castle was dark, save for the illumination from the torches. Shadows crept along the walls like creatures of the night, eternally stalking from a plane beyond their existence. Twilight had fallen away to darkest night where a full moon sat amongst the stars. It was a time where monsters came out and magic was strong, and he couldn't help but think about Remus.

Listening closely, and staring up at the glowing celestial body, he could almost hear the howls of delight, amongst barking and the clattering of hooves in the grass. Not for the first time he wondered what had brought about his end.

"- fight, this isn't fair. Why is our family so stupid, it doesn't have to be this way!"

"You know exactly why this must be done. I have a duty to you all."

Harry's footsteps halted at the sound of what appeared to be an argument between a man and a girl.

"I understand you like to run around with those school friends of yours, playing hero, but this is real life. Staying out after hours – like tonight, which I am most displeased with – and shooting tickling jinxes at each other will make no difference. "

Harry was pressed against the stone, his mind not being able to place the voice of the man. It wasn't that of a professor, and it did not sound like any of the aurors who occasionally patrolled the halls.

"We're called the D.A., and we're not pretending to be heroes. We are doing what we can to be ready," the girl shot back.

She must have been one of the newer members – he would have recognized the voice of any of the originals.

"There's nothing to be ready for – not for us," the man countered in a sharpish tone, "you're being foolish, just like your mother."

"If you are the only one who wants to do this, then I don't see how you aren't the foolish one."

"I am doing what is necessary. _This_ is what makes the difference." Harry could hear the grit and determination behind the man's voice.

"The only thing you're doing is tearing us apart. You're hurting us," the girls voice was trembling, some deep underlying ache at odds with an inner strength.

"It will only be a short while, until things settle," his voice dropping low, trying to be soothing. "You will make new friends, I promise."

"I don't care about making new friends!" she cried out, "It's not about me. What about Daphne?"

 _Daphne?_

"Daphne is a charming girl, I'm certain she won't have trouble making any friends despite the arrangement," the man's tone was queer, lined with what sounded like uncertainty and regret.

This couldn't be…

"You know that's not what I meant. You know how much this means to her. What you're doing to her... it's not right! She's in so much pain right now… I don't – I can't sit by and watch her destroy herself like this."

"Hush my sweet, hush… Daphne understands…"

Harry heard the sound of a hand being slapped away.

"That's a lie! She doesn't understand – she doesn't understand why you're doing this to her. You saw what she did for Christmas – what it meant to her, and how happy she was."

"Enough! I am your father," the man's voice cracked under some unknown pressure. "You think I don't understand sacrifices? That I am so cold, so heartless, that I don't suffer upon seeing my daughter in pain? My decision is final, and I will live with the consequences."

Harry could hear the voices approaching him now, the pause they'd taken during their heated exchange had given way to their continued travel.

There wasn't enough time for him to pull out his invisibility cloak. His options were few and far between.

In the heartbeat he had before they came upon him, Harry resolved to do what came natural to him in most situations… to just go with it.

Squaring his shoulders like a man who knew where he was going, Harry took one step forward and crashed headlong into whoever came around the other side. The deep grunt made upon contact suggested it was the man.

Rubbing the sore spot on his ribs where he'd been jabbed by an elbow, Harry straightened to see a sharply dressed man in navy robes and midnight hair parted cleanly to the side. His brilliant blue eyes did a double-take when taking in his features.

To his left stood someone Harry knew well enough for it all to make sense now. Astoria Greengrass, who must have inherited her mother's coloring, was standing next to her father with a victorious smirk on her face.

"Father," her voice sung with smug sweetness, "this is Harry Potter. Harry," she looked at him and winked, "this is my father, Alfred Greengrass."

"It's a pleasure, sir," Harry extended his hand for a shake.

"Yes…" the man pulled at his collar and coughed awkwardly in his throat, "my daughters speak of you often."

"Daphne does," Astoria cut in, "Daphne talks about you. I don't really... no offence."

"Oh," Harry gulped.

"Indeed." Mr. Greengrass looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt, not even being able to meet his eyes.

They stood there a moment, shifting awkwardly on their feet. Harry did not like the sound of what Astoria was talking about with her father, and Mr. Greengrass clearly knew they had been overheard to some extent.

"Astoria, dear," he spoke suddenly, "I believe its time you returned to your dorms. I have files to report to the headmaster and familial business to conclude, and must be on my way. I will see you soon," he said the last part pointedly, his eyes conveying a deeper meaning.

Astoria had clearly caught on to whatever it was. Her eyes darkened and a furious expression took hold of her pretty face. She left without another word.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. It's a shame we couldn't have been introduced under better circumstances," he looked genuine in his words as he spoke. He stood in place a moment longer, gazing inscrutably out at the retreating form of his daughter, before departing as well.

There was far too much going on for Harry to focus on all at once. He'd been delayed for long enough, and needed to get to Dumbledore as soon as possible. Everything else could wait for the time being.

The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office jumped to the side as if sensing the determination in his approach. A password would only have hindered him.

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore called from within. He sat in his golden trimmed chair behind his desk. with an Augurey feathered quill in hand, scribbling away at a pile of parchments.

"Sir, I don't know what caused it, but Ch-"

"I am well informed of the events surrounding Miss Chang," Dumbledore's voice was tight as he responded. His eyes had yet to leave the parchment he was hovered over. "Filius has been notified and is currently searching the castle for her location."

"That wasn't Cho, it couldn't have been… at least not the one I knew. She had to be sick."

"She must assuredly is, but physically I think not," Dumbledore shook his head, and rolled up the bit of parchment he had been writing on before placing it in a carved red oaken box. "The mind and spirit is just as susceptible to sickness as our bodies," his voice hovered in the air with melancholy.

"I hadn't even noticed something was wrong," Harry admitted. In truth he had hardly seen Cho, his only opportunities being the D.A. meetings, and he could count on a single hand how many he had stopped in on. Now that he thought about it, Daphne did mention once there was something wrong with Cho.

That raised the question, how had nobody in the D.A. noticed anything?

"I'm afraid most do not until it is too late, or they simply choose to ignore what is standing right in front of them in fear of what they might see. Rest assured, she will receive the help she needs."

"The Slytherins – Helen and Marcus – they're do alright?" Harry asked earnestly.

"I have not seen to them personally, but Severus assured me in his message that there is nothing a good night's rest won't fix. He specifically noted on his displeasure at having some of his Slytherins join your ever growing fan club."

Harry smirked at that as he took a seat across the headmaster.

"I ran across Mr. Greengrass in the hallway as well," Harry said.

"Ah, indeed," Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought, "Alfred Greengrass handled a full inspection of the castle's art. Most of the works found in the castle come from the Greengrass family's private collection, or were dealt from their business – an expert in the field of magical artwork if there ever was one. From my discussion with him, we both agree that there is nothing wrong with the artwork itself, but rather there is a foreign source at the fault of their strange behaviour."

"Malfoy?"

"I suspect so. Yet still we remain in the darkness as to the true cause."

There was something unnerving in the way Dumbledore spoke so honestly and openly about his lack of knowledge. He could only imagine what Dumbledore felt. The unknown was not a kindly place for the omniscient.

"I presume that was not the only reason behind your impromptu visit," Dumbledore looked at him expectantly behind his half-moon glasses.

"Oh, yeah," Harry shot to attention, his hand digging around in his pocket as he remembered why he had originally come up here.

"The memory…" Dumbledore breathed in what sounded like long-held relief as he took the phial from Harry.

"I'm afraid I ruined Professor Slughorn's night in acquiring it."

"Shame and guilt were what held Horace back, and confronting the two is never an easy task," Dumbledore said, and the memory was poured into the pensieve sat between them. "If you please, Harry," Dumbledore extended his hand to the milky surface, "so that together we may come to solve this puzzle at last."

The memory had been short, in a blink they had popped in and out, but the content within quite possibly was the most disturbing.

"Seven… he split his soul seven times," Harry repeated out loud for what must have been the tenth time. The words were just as much an equal mix of shock, disgust, and fear, that they had been when first spoken.

He'd always known Voldemort to be a monster. But to hear this… to see how far he was willing to go, to twist nature itself, it was hideous. Voldemort wasn't human and hardly a wizard, he was a grotesque amalgam of the vilest magic in existence given form.

To think people followed this _thing_ , and looked forward to whatever hell on earth he wanted to instill under his rule.

"Seven horcruxes… I had suspected – it was only guesswork, but to have evidence…" Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes looking out to the starlit sky. "We have made a great discovery tonight, Harry. One that has provided us a means to victory, but one that has also shows how far you have to go. It is a treacherous path you now walk, my boy."

Something about Dumbledore's words chilled his spine.

"Do we know where any are?"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered in the light as he spoke, "There are some in this very room right now… one destroyed by you some four years ago, and another destroyed by myself."

"I destroyed one?" Harry's eyebrows shot up in shock.

"Indeed, the very same diary that possessed Miss Weasley was Voldemort's first horcrux, created in his murder of Myrtle Warren. It was weaponized by Tom to reopen the Chamber and finish the work he had started, but in his recklessness it was destroyed."

"The basilisk fang? The fang destroyed the horcrux?"

"Not the fang, but the venom, Harry. The magic within the poison is too powerful for any of the protective enchantments placed on the horcruxes. Only magics of the most destructive nature are capable of destroying a horcrux."

"And what of the other?" Harry could feel the burst of excitement in his chest, they'd already destroyed two of seven.

"This ring, destroyed by Godric Gryffindor's sword," Dumbledore pulled out a heavy looking golden ring. It was topped with an inky black stone, cracked through its middle that called to him with its pulsating power.

It was a familiar ring, one that had featured across several of the memory's Dumbledore had shown him.

"Marvolo Gaunt's ring? How did you manage to find it?"

"In the time in which I am not acting as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am playing the role of detective. You may have noticed my increasing absence from the school?" Harry nodded in response. "Much of my time away has been spent scouring the secrets of Tom's past, to better predict the future and begin to understand the mind of Lord Voldemort. I had travelled to the old Gaunt shack, where I found this ring under an old floorboard, beneath layers and layers of protections. Dark magic leaves traces, and when one knows where to look, these traces can be followed back to their root."

"How do we know where to look, or what to find? He could use anything – a cauldron… or, uh, a tin pot or something. What's to say he didn't dig a whole and bury one underground."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, which in Harry's opinion, was totally inappropriate considering the nature of the topic of conversation.

"We must be thankful that is not the case then," he picked up the ring as he spoke and put it back in his pocket. "Since my discovery of the diary as a horcrux, I have delved deeply into their mysteries, searching forgotten texts and speaking to old acquaintances more learned than I in the more... unsavoury arts of magic. Horcruxes, as foolproof as they appear to men such as Voldemort, are not without fault. Upon destruction of the body, to live as nothing more than a spirit – a fraction of a soul – there is a need for magic to sustain oneself. Without the body, there is nothing rooting the soul to the magic of this world. A horcrux serves its purpose as an anchor to life, but it leaves its creator isolated from what keeps them truly alive."

"Horcruxes are potent and corrosive by nature. Without magic, they will turn to consume themselves – destroy themselves even, if they must, to satisfy their hunger. To sustain a horcrux, it is in need of a source to feed off of. Something powerful, that can withstand its corruption. As such, there is always a place to start from when searching for one, and with Tom the answer lies in his past," Dumbledore leaned back into the leather of his chair, peering at Harry as if expecting something from him.

Harry took the moment to think.

Voldemort's first horcrux had been his own diary, meant to open the Chamber of Secrets, a place that signified the legend of Salazar Slytherin. It was clear that the subterranean chamber was meant to be its source, but instead it was kept by Lucius Malfoy. From what he knew, the Malfoy's lived in an extensive manor; Mr. Weasley had once searched it, to find countless magical artifacts. Perhaps it was enough to sustain the horcrux.

The ring itself was magical, Harry could feel its strength coming off in waves only moments ago. It had been kept in the home of the Gaunt's, Voldemort's magical family, another place that could contain its power.

The image of a locket and a cup flashed before his mind's eye.

"The other memories," Harry was speaking his thoughts aloud at this point, "the clues are inside the other memories. The locket Marvolo Gaunt claimed came from Slytherin himself, the same one Hepzibah Smith showed him along with Hufflepuff's cup. I remember Zacharias once mentioned something about Voldemort stealing it from his family…"

"Precisely, Harry," Dumbledore was smiling proudly at him, his body injected with a youthfulness he rarely seemed to possess anymore. "Tom's past is the key to his destruction. I have spent years collecting every bit of evidence I can, each its own unique piece in this puzzle we find ourselves in. When you start to fit them all together, patterns start to emerge, and Tom becomes predictable."

"But surely he would have noticed? At least covered his tracks in case he was discovered."

"Oh, he tried, but Tom always thought he knew best - arrogant to a fault, and felt he was the smartest one in the room at all times. In his superiority, he thought it impossible for his greatest secret to be uncovered, and for people to remember him for the boy he was. Prideful… yet sentimental."

"Sentimental?" That was a word Harry would never had thought associated with Voldemort.

"Places and things, Harry, not people… never people," Dumbledore shook his head slightly, before straightening and looking Harry in the eye. "Salazar Slytherin's locket and Helga Hufflepuff's cup, two artifacts powerful enough to sustain a horcrux and famous enough for Tom to consider them worthy of housing his soul."

"It's not a coincidence that they both belonged to the Founders I'm guessing?" Harry could sense what the answer would be.

"I think not, there is always a method to his madness. Hogwarts was one of the few places Tom was fond of, and I am fairly confident in my estimation that he considered himself an equal amongst the Founders. A peer, if you will, in his own twisted way."

"So one for each of them?"

"Perhaps… although Godric Gryffindor was not renown for magical creations. The only two of any interest are his sword and his hat, both of which are safe within this office."

"Then what do you think they could be? And where?" These were the questions that had been burning inside him since emerging from the memory.

"The diary and ring, both of which are destroyed," Dumbledore listed off initially, "the locket and the cup, an item belonging to Ravenclaw, and Voldemort's snake Nagini - the newest and most desperately made in his collection. It is only conjecture but still I remain confident enough in my line of thinking. And I would presume them all to be hidden in some place of grand importance to Tom's life. Just as the diary was meant for the Chamber of Secrets, and the ring was found in the house of the family who's ancestry tied him to Salazar Slytherin."

The thought of Nagini as a horcrux – a living being – was a terrifying thought, especially as he knew what she was capable of. But something else caught his attention.

"You mentioned only six horcruxes, sir, I thought there were seven?"

"Seven…" Dumbledore looked shaken, his skin greying like that of a corpse, "oh – no, I must have misspoken. A seven-"

Before they could continue their discussion, a jumble of footsteps could be heard stomping up the spiral staircase leading to his office. Many of the portraits of former headmasters took the opportunity to loudly complain about too many after hour visits.

"Your cloak, Harry, quick," Dumbledore ordered, before clearing his desk with a wave of his wand.

Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak and drew it around his form. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in Dumbledore's office, it would be nearly impossible to explain a visit so late in the evening.

"Ente-"

The door burst open before Dumbledore could finish.

In front of them stood a teary eyed Professor Flitwick looking distraught beyond comprehension. McGonagall was situated behind her fellow professor, a hand resting on his shoulder; but whether it was in reassurance, or simply to keep the half-goblin from toppling over, Harry wasn't sure. Her lips were drawn much tighter across her face, and the cracks in her aged skin were much more pronounced.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Albus it's happened again," Flitwick half-sobbed, his entire complexion contrary to everything Harry had grown to associate with the man after years of his tutelage. "Another student… gone – it's Miss Chang… she's been poisoned."

 **AN**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this update! Things are picking up now, discoveries are made, and shit is falling apart at Hogwarts. We are drawing very close to the end of this first arc. I've outlined the last two chapters before the grand finale, so they should be coming out fast.**

 **I get a kick out of reading all of your thoughts regarding Harry, Fleur, and Daphne. Knowing what is coming up, what was hinted in this chapter, and how it all plays out, only makes me more excited for when you get to see it. The speculation in the reviews is fantastic to read.**

 **All of the very kind reviews and words you have left me on the story are very much appreciated. To hear how much some of you enjoy my work, it is very inspiring for me. I've seen a fair number of reviews praising me, and speaking about how I should have more faves/followers/reviews, and it really means a lot. I'm grateful for every reader and reviewer I get, and I don't generally like quantifying the enjoyment people get from what I have put together. Knowing that there is a group of people who enjoy what I put out, as I continue to grow as a writer, is more than enough for me. That being said, if you want tell people about this fic and spread the word around, be my guest. The more the merrier.**

 **As always, feel free to leave reviews for this chapter or the story as a whole. If you have any questions ask them, or PM me.**

 **Until next time.**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Just a word of warning, in case some people feel uncomfortable, it gets a little dark at the end depending on how you view the scene unfold. Also, I know there have been issues with FFN lately (Check the HPfanfiction subreddit if you don't know), but I've still gone ahead with this update. It would be helpful if you let me know whether you want me to cross post on AO3 until it gets sorted, or if you are relatively unaffected on the site. Enjoy**

* * *

It was near an outcrop of oversized boulders that Harry saw her sitting out by the lake. The sky was as dark and as hard as steel, it's impenetrable coverage hiding any warmth or happiness that could be drawn from the sun. It was as if the world was mourning with the news that had left the castle.

The death of Cho Chang had been a shock. Found by her head of house, poisoned on the floor of an unused closet. She was not peaceful in death, far from it, her last moments looked to be some of extreme agony. He'd followed the professors, hardly keeping pace with Dumbledore under his invisibility cloak, who had sprinted to where she was found. The man stumbled at the sight, only the doorframe kept him on his feet, and Harry could hardly blame him based on what they saw.

Cho Chang lay a twisted wreck on the floor. Blood and foam dripped across her face from her open mouth and onto the floor. Her face was a hideous shade of green and purple, and her eyes were pooling with blood from their burst vessels. Perhaps worse than the rest, was the mangled mess that remained of her neck. It looked to have been mauled by a wild animal, flesh torn away in chunks by savage claws. Harry had almost been sick when he realized the damage had been done by her own hands. Strips of skin were stuffed underneath her own nails, from what must have come from her last desperate attempts to draw breath.

Around her lay a litter of empty and half-filled bottles, an expensive collection that at one point had belonged to Professor Slughorn. Shattered by her side was a gifted bottle of oak matured mead, one that still had the tag with Slughorn's name on it. The same bottle the professor had wanted to share with Harry.

Harry hadn't slept that evening.

It was during breakfast that the news started to filter its way through the halls. At least that was what he had heard when returning to the dorms from the kitchen. The students were in shock. To hear that beautiful, brilliant, and talented Cho Chang was dead.

It almost had a fairy tale aspect to it, if it weren't so gruesome. She was with Cedric now. Perhaps that brought her a sense of peace wherever she was.

Tears were shed by many; others were too stunned to speak. But it was the D.A. who were the most affected. They swore that they hadn't noticed anything wrong, that aside from missing the odd meeting (which wasn't entirely uncommon), she looked fine. It appeared as if Cho had managed to hide her condition from everyone.

But yet, Daphne had known – at least to some extent.

It was all too confusing and all too tragic.

But what made the day worse, was today was the day Katie returned to Hogwarts. As if it was some sick joke, one girl died and another returned. A life for a life. How was one supposed to celebrate the life of one, while mourning the death of another?

While checking his map that afternoon, Harry happened across a name leaving the castle. It was something he had pushed off for far too long, and that was how he found himself approaching the water's edge.

His heart was pumping, heating his body against the cold nipping at his face. Her form was hunched, her brown hair splayed out behind her in a way that was both unkempt and attractive. At one point he had envisioned himself beside her, especially after the day they had spent together in Hogsmeade, which felt like a lifetime ago despite only being at the beginning of the year.

What might have been, and whatever circumstances held them apart didn't matter, he was her friend first before anything else.

"Long-time no see," Harry called as he approached from the side.

She turned, nose dripping and face red from the cold, with a small smile on her face. "I missed you," she breathed.

"I missed you too, Megan." Harry took a seat beside her on the ground, immediately removing his cloak and throwing it over both of their shoulders.

"I'm sor-"

"No, don't," Harry cut her off softly. "I don't need you to apologize, things have been tough… real tough this year, for everybody. I know you have something you need to tell me – your sister hinted at such when I last saw her, but that can wait. It's just good to see you, and I want to talk to my friend before anything else."

The two smiled at each other, a ray of sunlight escaped from its cloud covered prison to shine upon them, and they did just that. They talked just like they used. Words came easy to them, a playful dialogue that ebbed and flowed like the current of a lazy river. It was an odd friendship most wouldn't have expected, one forged from a shared love for a sport, but it worked and they didn't question it. In these stolen moments he had with Megan, Harry felt a peace he hadn't enjoyed in months; and better yet, so did Megan.

In the short silence of a pause that came naturally between them, Harry could still see a certain nervousness in her form.

He sighed, a puff of breath blew visibly out of his mouth, "What is it?"

Megan turned and fidgeted, her gaze quickly diverted down, "Do you trust me?" Her voice was just above a mumble.

"Of course."

She looked at him then with only a trace of hesitance, the rest of her set in determination.

He felt a warm hand on his cheek as her body moved closer to his. Her breath tickled his face, but still he did not move.

 _I trust her_.

Her lips pressed softly against his. The kiss was gentle and sweet, and tasted like something he would have once found irresistible. It would have been too easy to fall back into the past, but he was a different person now, and thus found himself pushing away.

Megan did not object, and surprised him with a look of understanding. "I thought so…" she trailed off.

"Thought what?" There was no awkwardness between them, no passion, no confusion, just an amiable relation.

"I just needed to be sure I made the right choice," she laughed to herself. "I once thought I loved you – I was a little girl then to be fair, but still I thought so. I grew up, and love slowly turned into genuine affection, attraction, and a crush on a little boy who flew better than I could ever hope, without even trying."

"Well… I wouldn't say without try-"

"Oh shush you!" She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm telling you something important, you can at least be serious."

"I'll try," he laughed.

"I had a crush on you for a long time – longer than I would like to admit, actually. It's part of the reason why I disliked Weasley for all these years. I saw her as competition, I guess."

"Ginny? You don't seriously think-"

"That she's convinced she's half in love with you? Don't be daft, Harry. She's been praying for you to notice her since she went with Neville to the Yule Ball and had to decline your invitation."

Harry's mind flashed back to how Ginny was touching him during Christmas dinner and immediately felt like an idiot.

"Makes sense now doesn't it?" Megan must have seen the look on his face. "Like I said, I was like that once, but that was until I started to notice other things – other people. I was scared at first. It didn't make sense to me why I was staring at these people, why I'd blush when they would look at me or touch me. It didn't fit with what I had always thought I wanted. I convinced myself I was wrong, that it was just a phase, and I went back to following you. It felt like I was being torn apart between what I had always known and grown used to, and the unknown that kept calling out to me. It was only when Katie got hurt that it all made sense. I love her. I love her and I nearly lost her."

Harry was not expecting that.

"We started spending more and more time together outside of just Quidditch practice, and all these things that were bothering me for so long started to make just a little more sense. I connected with Katie, like she really understood me – kind of like you do, Harry – and she made me smile. Katie told me how she felt one day, how she liked me, and I didn't know what to do or say. I was in denial. But when she got hurt, when she was dying in front of my eyes, I knew what my heart was trying to tell my head for so long."

"That's incredible, Megan…" Harry was gobsmacked.

"Wait! You're not mad at me?" She looked shocked as she spoke. "You're not mad about everything I did? How I kept things from you? Lied to you?"

"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "Katie's alive! Just look around, in times like these nobody is safe, we don't know what will happen tomorrow. All we can do is hold onto whatever we love for as long as we can. I don't know why you're wasting kisses on a mug like me, when you should be saving them for her."

"But what if she doesn't want me anymore?" Megan shrank back, her voice was bare and vulnerable. "I never told her what I felt. I hurt her when I didn't tell her the truth. How can she look at me the same after that?"

"She will, I know she will. Katie has a big heart – tell her what you told me here. Honesty… there's nothing more important."

Harry knew he had spoken true, but the words still felt bitter in his mouth. To offer the same advice he couldn't keep himself – it was hypocrisy at its finest. Looking back at his life this past year, he wasn't sure if there was an honest thing about it.

The tight embrace he received was unexpected, but wholly appreciated. "Thank you," she breathed against his ear, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Harry…" her voice caught his attention as she departed. Harry twisted around to see her standing several feet away, already on the way to the castle. "You're the best person I've ever met, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

She was gone shortly after, yet Harry continued to sit and watch the rippling surface of the Black Lake. He almost wished he'd brought some toast, the tentacles of the giant squid were sticking above the water, and it looked hungry.

In the cold afternoon of a day mixed so gravely with joy and despair, Harry allowed a smile to creep up on his face at his hope of giving love a chance.

* * *

The warmth of the shower as the water ran down his face drew a sigh of satisfaction from Harry. The heat was delightful during cold days such as these. He'd only returned from outdoors moments ago, and decided to wash up before heading down for dinner. Not one for long showers, Harry quickly finished before drying off and entering the dorms.

Dean and Seamus had been inside debating West Ham United's latest football scores when Harry had first entered, but it appeared as if they departed without him. Harry did not particularly mind, he hadn't asked them to wait.

Expecting to be the last Gryffindor to leave, Harry was surprised when he left the dorm to find Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville waiting for him below. Even more so, he was puzzled as to why they looked so anxious.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Is everything _alright_?" Hermione's voice was sharp with emotion, "Of course not!"

Harry cringed internally, it was a callous thing to say given what happened to Cho. It didn't sit right with him that he needed to be reminded of that fact; that he'd already moved past her death and thought little of it.

"Right, sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright mate," Ron spoke up, though his voice sounded strange, "it's all a bit mental isn't it? You know with all the students getting attacked… though I couldn't help but notice you didn't seem shocked when you learnt about Cho, especially given your history with her."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked directly. He couldn't help but notice the way everyone shifted nervously.

"Nothing, nothing, Harry," Neville said from the side, "it's just that we wanted to know how you found out first."

"I was with Dumbledore…" Harry quickly realized he shouldn't have said that.

"Were you, now?" Ron picked up from where he left off. "Seeing him quite a bit aren't you? What with running into Cho together, and him picking you up from our house on Christmas-"

"Where are you going with this?" Harry was beginning to lose his patience. "I can tell you all have something to say. If you want to say something, just say it."

"We just want to talk, Harry," Hermione tried to placate him, "it's just that we've noticed how you've been acting odd this year…"

"In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, there have a been a lot of _odd_ things happening this year – you're not excluded from this as well," he looked pointedly at Ron causing her to flush. It wasn't particularly fair of him, but he didn't care.

"You're hiding something from us, Harry, we've known it for a while. We just want to help," Ginny said as she stepped boldly forward towards him, looking to grab his hand. Megan's words from earlier came to mind, and he shifted away from her touch.

"I don't need help." It was a lie, he needed as much help as he could get, but unfortunately it wasn't possible. "And I'm not hiding anything, it's just been a stressful year."

"Hippogriff shit!" Ron spat, drawing Harry's attention. "You can lie to whoever you want, Harry, but I've been your best mate for years and I'm not falling for it."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Harry was not pleased with the way his friends had attempted to trap him and get answers out of him.

"Just tell us the truth! Tell us what in Merlin's name is going on, and why you've been running around by yourself all year!"

"A war is going on, Ron, in case you haven't noticed! I've just been doing what needs to be done in order to be prepared for when all hell breaks loose!" It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't a complete lie either.

"Do you not trust us, is that what it is? After all we've been through together – all of us – you're just going to shut us out when it really matters?"

"I don't have a choice!" Harry snapped. "You're asking for things I can't give."

He had trusted Dumbledore initially when the headmaster had told him to keep their lessons secret. But now as the year had gone by, he saw the reasoning behind the request and why it was imperative to do so.

Everything conducted in their lessons: the magic, the theory, the places they visited, the memory's and the implications of them all, were too valuable to let slip. If the wrong person caught wind of what they were doing together, it could spell disaster and lose them the element of surprise they gained over Voldemort.

He trusted his friends with his life… but not with the secrets to Voldemort's destruction.

To pass that knowledge on would open countless avenues for the secret to be revealed. Like ink in water, it had the potential to disperse without control, and sooner or later Voldemort would learn of the discovery of his Horcruxes.

"You can't act like nothing is going on, Harry. I've seen the scar on your shoulder, Neville has too – it's not like you can hide it when you're changing in the dorm and the locker rooms."

Harry's hand instinctively shot to where the Lethifold had bit into his shoulder.

"You got it around the time you were stuck in the Hospital Wing for a week. Except we know you weren't."

"I had Dragon Lung," Harry protested, but it was weakly done.

"I checked the map, Harry," Ron looked at him and shook his head sadly, "We weren't allowed to see you when Dumbledore told the school you had Dragon Lung, and we wanted to make sure you were alright in the Hospital Wing. I took out the map… and you weren't there."

Harry was at a loss for words, he was not prepared for this. "I was-"

"With Dumbledore, I'm sure," there was nothing pleasant about the sarcasm in Ron's voice.

"You're always disappearing at odd times," Hermione said.

"Not to mention how broody you were when you came back with Dumbledore over the holidays," Ginny added.

"We're not the only ones who have noticed this, Harry," Neville pointed out. "Everyone has been talking about how you are living off in your own world, separate from the rest of us."

"Harry, we understand what you are going through. We just don't want to see you isolate yourself from us. You can trust us, Harry, we love you and will always be by your side whether you want us to or not."

Hermione's words, and the passionate looks on his friends' faces touched his soul. He didn't know what he did to deserve such loyal friends, but he was grateful beyond belief. It only made his next words that much more painful.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Ron's voice was tight.

"Does it really matter." It felt like someone had plunged their fist into his chest and was tearing his heart into shreds.

"You can't keep everything secret forever, Harry. Wars aren't won by a single person," Hermione's brown eyes were filled with tears.

"Maybe. But this one might just have to be." Harry whispered as he turned to leave, not having the strength to glimpse back at his friends over his shoulder, and hating himself with each step he took as his forehead pounded from behind his scar.

As he left the common room and exited through the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry could hear a frightening roar of frustration followed by the crunch of wood splintering. The only thought on his mind, was if his friends would ever forgive him.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

"No, but what other choice do we have?" Katie replied, standing there dressed in her Gryffindor jersey and broom tucked underhand. She had what Harry liked to call her 'game face' on, the very same one worn so often by Angelina, and Oliver before that.

Perhaps it was a captain thing.

"Not McLaggen," Harry deadpanned.

Cormac McLaggen was likely the worst option available, and sadly the only one as well. After their bust up in the common room, Ron in a fit of frustrated rage punched a carved wooden shield that sat upon the mantel, and shattered both the shield and his hand.

As if to prove some point or out of pure stubbornness, Harry wasn't sure, Ron refused to get it checked. Perhaps he thought his pain would cause Harry to crack, and to come back and confide in his friends. It almost worked, seeing his best friend struggle to even hold his wand in class pained him, but the gravity of the war reminded Harry why he made his decision. For nearly two weeks Ron continued with this, he could hardly imagine the agony his friend had endured, before Hermione snapped. They'd been rowing ever since his refusal to seek help, and after a particularly explosive one in the middle of the common room, she stunned him and brought him to Pomfrey herself.

Ron's stubbornness led to the bones settling poorly in his hand, and Pomfrey was forced to vanish them all and regrow them. Spoken from experience, Harry knew how unpleasant Skele-Gro could be. He hadn't recovered in time, and Pomfrey refused to clear him to play in the next Quidditch match.

That was how they ended up with McLaggen as their last minute keeper replacement.

"He's actually fairly good, you know," Katie pointed out, leaning on her broom by the entrance to the stadium as they waited for the team to join them.

Harry could hear the roar of the crowd overhead. Hogwarts Quidditch always was a spectacle, no matter the match. There was always something going on the pitch, long-held grudges, new rivalries, up and coming players, and bragging rights above anything else. The match today had almost been cancelled, after what happened to Cho countless fights had broken out between the houses. They mostly involved Slytherin, but a fair few brawls had even broken out between the other three houses. When teenagers were enraged, no one was safe. The Hospital Wing was an ever flowing loop of children coming in and out, Pomfrey even had to order extra medical supplies from St. Mungo's. In the end, the professors thought the match might do some good – to help the students unleash their passions through another medium, and establish some order from there.

As such, the atmosphere was notably charged today. With a win, Gryffindor could clinch the Quidditch Cup, and it appeared as if the crowd knew this as well. The chorus' of familiar chants, both new and centuries old, could be heard reverberating around the stadium, sending vibrations down to its foundations. The enchantments on the stands were being stretched to their limits, and Harry knew without a doubt today's match would be a mad one.

"When he's not being a complete blighter in the air," Harry grumbled. It was unfair on Katie, who had made the only decision they possibly could make, but Harry _really_ did not like McLaggen.

"If he helps us get the win, I don't care what he does," Katie laughed nervously.

"You'll be fine Katie – best captain we've ever had… and I'm not just saying that because you're not a slave driver who has us up and running before the crack of dawn."

Katie giggled and smiled at him appreciatively, some of the tension leaving her features at his words.

"Thank, Harry…" she paused and looked up at him with a light blush colouring her cheeks, "… and thanks."

"No problem," Harry nodded, not needing to decipher the meaning behind her words.

"Alright! Let's go ladies, we've got some duffers to smack around!" A booming voice came blasting from behind him, causing Harry to cringe, just as a hand smacked painfully against his back.

Cormac McLaggen stood donned in full Quidditch gear, a proud smirk on his face, looking like a model who came straight off the pages of Teen Witch Weekly.

Harry wanted to punch the idiot in the face.

"I knew it would only be a matter of time before you all came to your senses and called me up," he said with such confidence that Harry was unsure whether Cormac actually knew the circumstances of his position, or if he convinced himself otherwise. Either way, it was shockingly impressive how oblivious he was to everything around him.

"Alright McLaggen, line up," Katie ordered, ignoring him as best as she could.

"Yes captain," he said in a voice that made Harry's skin crawl with its smarminess. "I'm just happy that we can put this slide behind us and get back to winning ways-"

"We haven't lost a game yet," Ginny said as she stepped out of the change room.

"– don't want to knock the old keeper or anything," Cormac continued as if he hadn't heard Ginny, "but had we stuck with me since the beginning, we would have won the cup by now."

" _I don't think that's possible_ ," Harry whispered to Katie, who snickered and nodded in response.

"Peakes! Coote! Get out here!" Katie shouted, and two stocky adolescents came stumbling out of the locker room, fumbling with the straps of their Quidditch armour with bats in hand. "Alright, listen up – that includes you too McLaggen," Katie cut sharply across whatever Cormac was going to say. "We know the way Hufflepuff is going to play, it's going to be the same as what they did against Slytherin and Ravenclaw. It'll be a high-press – they're bloody good at it too – so be sure to keep your cool when their chasers are pressuring you."

"Move the Quaffle quick, girls," she looked to Demelza and Ginny, "side-to-side passing and look to switch the play quickly, and that's how we'll break their line. No fancy flying, if you hold onto the Quaffle for more than five seconds, they'll poke it free and be through on goal. Bludgers will be coming quick and fast, but they're not so much looking to hit as they are trying to force you into the press. Coote and Peakes, you lot are there to intercept and look to redirect into their lines, to give us some space on the offensive. I don't want to see you smacking the Bludger anywhere other than at their chasers."

"Yes ma'am," the pair called out together with a salute.

Katie smiled, and for a moment let them bask in the noise of the crowd. It was electrifying. Harry could feel his blood pumping through his veins, his body calling out to pick up his broom and find his release.

 _We've got Potter! Harry Potter! I just don't think you understand!_

A single chant cut through them all in that moment, one Dean had come up with at the start of the season.

 _His Gryffindor's Man! His better than his old man!_

The buzz building inside him was almost too much.

 _We've got Harry Potter!_

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He looked over to Katie who had called him.

"Just do your thing."

 _We've got Potter!_

"In the starting squad for Gryffindor today!" An amplified voice rang about the stadium. Harry was a touch disappointed Luna wasn't commentating today, she was entertaining in ways nobody else could be.

"The Captain… Katie Bell!"

 _Harry Potter!_

"McLaggen, don't fuck this up," were the last words she had to say, before mounting her broom and shooting out on to the pitch.

"Standing in beside her, is the sensational… Ginny Weasley!"

It looked as if Cormac was trying to give Ginny some last minute advice, but she flashed away before he could finish.

"And the fantastic… Demelza Robins!"

 _I just don't think you understand!_

Cormac looked a bit put off that he hadn't been able to finish what he wanted to say.

"In the position of beaters today… Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote!"

The two smacked their clubs and knocked heads, before leaving together.

"Filling in at keeper for the injured Ron Weasley… Cormac McLaggen!"

 _He's Gryffindor's Man!_

It looked as if Cormac wanted to say something to Harry, but the call for his name was enough to pull him away.

"And starting at seeker…"

 _He's better than his old man!_

The crowd was nearly deafening at this point.

 _We've got –_

"Harry Potter!"

Harry was halfway across the pitch in the blink of an eye. Wind whipping across his face, arms gripping tightly to the handle, and legs squeezing to control the bucking of the broom, Harry pushed himself to a higher speed before shooting directly up into the air like a rocket.

A smile was spread across his face the entire way as he looped and twirled about the air, getting a feel for the wind conditions of the game.

Cutting down to the level of the stands, Harry slowed as he circled the pitch, looking out to the assembled crowd.

 _Harry Potter's magic! He wears a magic hat!_

Harry burst out laughing as they moved shifted into another one of Dean's creations.

 _When he sees the golden snitch, he says I'm having that!_

Each section reserved for the houses was decked out in their colors. Hufflepuff had a giant moving banner of a badger they named Ced. He could almost hear something coming from their section, but it was drowned out by the Gryffindors.

 _He catches it with his left hand!_

The Gryffindor section was filled with red and gold flags and streamers, that gave the impression that the stand had caught fire and turned into an untameable blaze. Posters that read 'Weasley Is Our King,' and the alternate 'Weasley Is Our Queen' for Ginny, stood tall and proud. Under the one that read 'Potter for President' stood Dean with a 'Weasley Is My Queen' t-shirt and Seamus with one that read 'Marry Me Potter.' Beside them was Hermione wearing her Gryffindor scarf, a face-painted Ron, and Neville who was trying to keep his head away from the opening of Luna's giant lion head.

 _He catches it with his right!_

"OR MOUTH!" the Gryffindor section shouted together with cheers and laughter.

The Ravenclaws were more subdued. They were already knocked out of the running for the cup, so their house was split in two for who to cheer for.

 _And when we win the Cup again we sing this song all night!_

 _Oooooooooooooooohhhh_

Slytherin on the other hand knew exactly who to cheer for, and it wasn't Gryffindor. A chorus of boos were hailed his way. Slytherin needed a Gryffindor loss both for rivalry's sake, and to have just the slightest chance of winning the cup this year. Their jeers only seemed to power Harry on, especially with the Gryffindor chant restarting.

Harry spotted Daphne looking at him from a spot in the corner of the stand. He winked at her as he flew by, and thought he saw a slight smile on her face.

The neutral section was jam packed with scouts, professionals, former students, parents, and teachers alike. It was a melting pot of individuals with different allegiances. Harry could see colors of the four different houses, but also jerseys and memorabilia from the various professional and national teams. Tonks was there beside Auror Fardale, her hair was a spiky mess of black and yellow, and she shrugged apologetically at him.

At some point the Hufflepuff players had entered the pitch, and it was time to form up.

Hermione had been right about one thing, he thought, as the captains shook hands with Madam Hooch.

Magicals were mad about Quidditch. It was a cultural sensation, and he loved it.

The game was on with a flash, fans screaming and players yelling as Hooch released the match balls into the air. A bludger nearly took Harry's head off with its erratic flight, only a shout from Richie saving him as he came over and smacked the iron ball into the crowd of Hufflepuff chasers converging on the Quaffle in Ginny's hand, like bees to honey.

Not wasting another moment, Harry went flying above the action below, his eyes searching the pitch like a hawk, hoping to glimpse the snitch.

"And Gryffindor scores! Weasley with a fantastic Biggins Role, before assisting a rocket from Bell!"

As quick as they scored, Hufflepuff came right back and evened the game. The back and forth action between the teams continued for some time, with Katie's game plan working effectively against Hufflepuff's pressure, but Gryffindor struggling defensively. It was to be expected, given that none of Katie, Ginny, or Demelza were defense-oriented in their play, and Coote and Peakes not being as talented or in sync as Fred and George.

Harry did his best to block out the noise of the crowd and the commentary, zipping around the pitch and between play searching for the elusive glint of gold. The Hufflepuff seeker played tightly beside Harry, in a man-marking system that he had grown used to. With Harry's speed on a broom, it was almost impossible for the opposing seekers to catch up if he spotted the snitch first, so most resorted to shadowing his movements.

"Zacharias Smith scores for Hufflepuff! Increasing their lead to 70-50!"

 _Zach Smith's on fire! Your defence is terrified!_

The groans from the Gryffindor section reached his ears, and Harry dipped down towards the pitch to see Cormac – red-faced in fury – screaming at Ginny for holding on to the Quaffle too long.

 _Zach Smith's on fire! Your defence is terrified!_

"Harry! Get back to position!" Katie shouted at him, her face frustrated and sweaty from the way the game had been playing out. Harry immediately went back to his searching, just as Katie flew over to address Cormac.

The match was well underway at this point, and still he hadn't caught sight of the winged ball. He'd scene gleams of silver coming from one portion of the stand, but nothing gold.

"Cadwallader scores another, after a brilliant Maxoff's Scoop by Smith for the assist, making it 130-80 for Hufflepuff. The Quaffle slipped right through McLaggen's hands, he will be wanting that one back."

 _He scores when he wants! He scores when he wants! Cadwallader, he scores when he wants!_

Harry shook the annoyance at Cormac from his head, the idiot was playing terrible and spent more time shouting at his players than doing his job. Ginny and Demelza scored twice in quick succession, stretching passes across the field to open gaps between their players, for the other to fly through and beat the keeper.

Something fizzed past his ear so fast it was a blur before his eyes, and the next moment he was off. It was instinctive, following the slight vibrations that travelled through the air. The fluttering of wings had a distinct hum to them, one he knew all too well; and when the sun peaked out from behind a patchy cloud, the flash of gold confirmed only what he already knew.

"Another goal for Smith! McLaggen is not pleased with his beaters about that one!"

Harry ignored the voice of the commentator as he zeroed in on the flying ball of gold. He could feel the Hufflepuff seeker struggle to keep up with his break-neck pace, barrelling through the sky and cutting across gusts of wind in his pursuit.

"It looks like Potter has seen the snitch!"

A great roar came bursting out from the crowd.

 _Harry Potter's magic! He wears a magic hat!_

It was music to his ears.

 _When he sees the golden snitch, he says I'm having that!_

He was drawing closer - only several feet away now. There was a familiar ache to his body, his arms and core straining with each correction he made to the lines of his flight, matching those of the snitch.

 _He catches it with his left hand!_

"Summerby has fallen off, and Potter is now on his own! Can he- oh, no! What's this!"

 _He catches it with his right!_

"Cormac McLaggen has taken hold of Ritchie Coote's bat!"

Harry was inches away now, the wings of the snitch tickled the tips of his fingers. He pushed himself further up his broom with his legs – now only a second away from victory.

 _And when we win the Cup again we sing this song all night!_

 _CLANK_

Harry's fist closed around the snitch, and looked up just in time to see McLaggen with a bat in hand, a shaking goalpost, and a Bludger redirecting off of it and moving right at his head.

 _Oooooooooooooooohhhh_

He heard screams mixed amongst the chants and shouts of victory. And then he knew only darkness.

* * *

Harry woke to a warmth and comfort he knew all too well. Even in his dazed state, he knew immediately he was under Madam Pomfrey's care in the Hospital Wing.

"Oi, he's awake!"

Harry cringed at the loudness of the voice, his head ringing like someone hit him with a bludgeoning hex from not even a foot away. When his hand reached up to touch the sore spot, he felt a wad of bandages wrapped around him.

"Honestly Ronald, did you really have to yell?" A voice that could only belong to Hermione scolded.

"We always did say Ron was a little simple."

Harry felt around to find his glasses before putting them on his head. He blinked, and pushed himself into a sitting position.

"What happened?" Harry looked around at the assembled crowd around his bed.

"A shattered skull is what happened," Madam Pomfrey huffed, pushing her way to his side and cutting away his bandages. She tutted under her breath while inspecting his head, poking and prodding at different areas. "I spent six hours picking shards of bone out of your head – I'll have you know Mr. Potter – and I did not enjoy a minute of it! All because of some suicidal game," she cursed under her breath.

"The best game," Harry looked up to see George grinning ear-to-ear, and winking at him.

" _We_ never had a problem, and were smacking Bludgers around for years," Fred said from his twins side.

"Yes, well, unfortunately not all of us are born with such thick skulls that the Bludgers simply bounce off them," Madam Pomfrey commented before pouring out an array of potions. "Drink these all, and then you'll be staying for lunch," Pomfrey ordered before disappearing.

"Did she just –"

"– I think she did, Fred"

"Ouch." They said together.

"So lunch, huh, it's been a day?" Harry asked.

"It's been six, Harry," Hermione said, looking as if she was only just holding back from engulfing him in a hug. He was thankful for that.

"Then what are they doing here?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Dumbledore invited us back when you woke up, we wanted to see how you were doing," George answered and Fred nodded along in agreement.

"McLaggen?" This time Harry's question was directed at Katie, who stood near the back.

"These two already… took care of him," she replied much to the enjoyment of Fred and George.

"Is it wrong that I want to kill him?"

"You'll have to get in line behind the rest of Gryffindor. Idiot almost cost us the match."

"Almost cost us?" That caught Harry's attention. "We won?" Harry's memory of the last few moments of the match were fuzzy at best. All he remembered was chasing the snitch and McLaggen grabbing a beaters bat.

"Yeah, uh, you caught the snitch right before the bludger hit you in the head. It was kind of scary, actually. You fell almost a hundred feet from your broom – Coote and Peakes had to catch you before you hit the ground," Ron was scratching his injured hand nervously while he explained the events of the end of the match.

"Brilliant," Harry beamed, "that's brilliant! We won the cup then?"

"Yeah, we did," Katie grinned, obviously thrilled at winning while being captain in her final year. "We decided to hold back on the celebration though, until you were feeling better and all… it's only fair since you were the one who won us the match."

"Oh…" Harry perked up, "so when is it?"

"Tonight."

"Brilliant!" The twins cheered.

"You're not invited, you don't go here anymore," Ginny said from the side, causing their faces to immediately fall.

"Listen… Harry," Ron was hesitant as he spoke.

"Don't –" he cut off his friend, "I know what you're going to say it's f –"

"No, I need to say this, mate," Ron was adamant; and Harry couldn't help but keep the smile off his face at hearing his friend call him 'mate' for the first time in weeks. "I'm sorry, if I wasn't such a prat and got my hand fixed right away then McLaggen wouldn't have gone in goal, and you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's my fault, and I shouldn't have snapped at you. Mind you, I'm still unhappy with everything going on – what you're not telling us – but I'll let it go for now. You're my best mate, and I trust your judgment."

"Thanks Ron, it really means a lot, especially –"

The door to the Hospital Wing creaked open, and everyone's attention was drawn to the solitary figure entering. Dressed in a simple grey robe with her hair tied back was Daphne.

Harry's throat dried up suddenly.

"I think we should, uh, clear the room," Ron said before moving to leave. The others followed him out, even Ginny departed without much complaint, leaving him and Daphne alone.

She approached him slowly, her footsteps echoing lightly on the stone floor. Her eyes had yet to meet his, almost as if afraid to do so.

"It's good to see you're alright." The tips of her fingers danced across the sheets of the bed beside his.

"It's good to see you still care," his response was blunt.

"I... did – care that is, I always did."

"You had a funny way of showing it then."

Daphne looked up at him then, her eyes shining with tears. The way in which their color reflected in the light, made it seem like he was staring at a pair of sapphires.

"I thought I was doing you a favour," she said, and sat lightly at the edge of his bed, the scent of peaches wafting over.

"What do you mean you were doing me a favour? You hid from me," Daphne shifted as he spoke. "You don't think that's not the least bit confusing? First, we're kissing at Slughorn's party, next you're buying me a gift worth three of my brooms –"

"You still have it?" The look on her face was inscrutable when she asked the question.

"Of course I do." He could see something flare deeply in her eyes, and her features soften. "It's in a pouch I keep around my neck. I left it up in the dorm for the match."

"You liked it?" Her voice sounded awfully vulnerable, in a way that was totally unlike Daphne's usual demeanor.

"Liked it? I loved it – how couldn't I? It was probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! How did you manage to get it made?"

Daphne seemed to spark to life with his words, a beautiful smile pulling at the corner of her lips and lighting up her face. She inched closer to him on the bed, and settled into a more comfortable position against his knees.

"Dadd – My father," she stopped and said the name stiffly, "knows master's in the upper workings of the art world. I managed to contact one who specializes in hand-crafted jewellery, and he promised to have it done as quickly as possible for the right price."

"How much was it?"

Daphne tried to turn her face away, but Harry caught it softly in his hand.

"I doesn't matter," she dismissed.

"How much?" he persisted, his thumb stroked the line of her cheekbone enjoying the warmth of her skin.

"It was for you! The price didn't matter, okay!" She slipped her head from his grasp.

Their eyes connected then, staring unblinkingly at each other, trying to convey unspoken words.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you. I was wrong, I was hur – " she stopped herself again.

There was so much desperation in the way she spoke, her voice cracking and unsure.

"Just promise me," Harry started. He placed his hand on her thigh, and Daphne covered it with her own. "Promise me you won't do that again – that you won't disappear."

Daphne looked broken. Crystal tears spilt out of her eyes and down her porcelain cheeks, but still she managed to look perfect in his eyes. Daphne opened her mouth as if to speak, her lips trembling, but instead she closed them and threw herself into his embrace.

Her lips were on his, claiming them with vigor, the salt of her tears mixing with the sweetness of her mouth. He steadied her against his body, and slowed down their caress into something much more passionate.

He'd only just opened his mouth to deepen their kiss, when the door to the Hospital Wing closed with a _smack_.

The two of them jumped apart. Harry's hand rested beneath Daphne's blouse on the creamy skin at the small of her back, while Daphne still had her hands intertwined with the back of his hair.

"Je m'excuse."

It was Fleur.

What in Merlin's name was she doing here?

The question in his mind was spelt across Daphne's flushed face along with an expression much less pleasant.

"I deed not know zat someone was already in 'ere."

"Well, now you know," Daphne's voice was emotionless.

"Could I speak to 'Arry in private for a moment?"

The two girls stared at each other for what felt like forever for Harry, who sat to the side in observation. It was almost as if they forgot he was just a few feet away.

"Fine," Daphne finally ceded.

The Slytherin girl calmly straightened from her position on the bed. As she started to walk away she stopped for a heartbeat, and looked back at Harry with something unspoken in her gaze, a word half formed on her lips, but in the end nothing was said.

The door closed softly behind her, and Harry was alone with Fleur for the first time since Christmas Eve.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was at ze match, and I wanted to see you when you woke up."

"Why are you really here?"

If Fleur's eyebrows shooting up was any indication, she was clearly shocked by the firmness behind his questioning. "I care about you 'Arry," she breathed, taking a step closer, "William eez at work, and I thought –"

Harry laughed a bitter and ugly laugh. "Of course, you're here when Bill isn't."

Something flashed in her pale blue eyes, "What eez zat supposed to mean?"

"I think you know very well what it's supposed to mean. You don't think I haven't noticed how you came sneaking in here only when everyone else has left, and without Bill knowing. Haven't you done enough?" Harry's voice was stuck in his throat. He could feel his heart pounding violently, rushing beyond its usual tempo, and his chest constricting in a vice-like grip.

Fleur's eyes were sad, and they stared beyond his own like there was a mysterious inevitability he was unaware of

"You would not understand," the breath of her voice was soft in the tense air.

"I wouldn't understand?" Harry could feel the flaring of his temper, "I wouldn't understand everything that is going on? There were two of us in that bedroom that night Fleur, if my memory recalls correctly. I can still smell the lavender and feel the caress of your hands! How do you think that makes me feel, when I kiss Daphne, but all I taste is you!"

"She will leave you 'Arry, I know ze type."

"Oh, will she now?" Harry was fuming, and his voice was low and dangerous.

"Zis Daphne might say she loves you and do sweet things for you, but in ze end she will leave. She eez ze one who comes first, not you, and when eet matters she will not be ze one to stay and stand by your side," Fleur implored desperately, as her silver hair fell about her angelic face.

Deep down he knew how he truly felt, but that didn't stop him from tearing his eyes away from her slender form and doing what needed to be done.

"And who would that be? You?" Harry asked, challenging Fleur to do or say what neither of them had been able to. Silence stretched between them for what felt an eternity. Passion burned between them, but one that was almost too dangerous to be kept alight. His wished it could be different, that whatever obstacles and misunderstandings had brought them to this impasse would be removed.

For half a second, Harry found himself hoping that Fleur would give in, but the moment had passed and the silence had reigned long enough. Fleur was stiff, much of the grace held within her lithe figure gave way to awkward motions.

"Go back to Bill, Fleur… at least Daphne is honest."

His words had struck a mortal blow. A crack appeared in the icy wall built between them, and slowly he could see it collapsing inwards upon itself, like a tower that had lost the stone of its support. The internal strength and superiority he had come to associate with Fleur vanished in an instant. The slight twitches of her face, as she fought and failed to keep the wetness from her eyes, showed a shadow of the woman she was.

Her mouth opened to speak, something about her looked as if it wanted to scream something at him, but all that came out was a chocked gasp.

It was hard for Harry not to move and comfort her. _He_ had caused her this pain. What kind of monster was he, to be so cruel to the girl he…

He stopped. It didn't matter now. Not when she had already fled the room, her hands covering her face, and tears splattering to the ground.

* * *

"Virtue."

"I'm sorry dear, but I already told you that password won't work."

"Virtue."

"Dear, you will be staying in this hallway all night unless you give me the correct password."

"I refuse to use _this_ ," Harry shoved the small piece of parchment Madam Pomfrey had provided him upon leaving the infirmary into the Fat Lady's face.

"Then it will be a night on the floor for you," the portrait harrumphed, and turned her back on him.

"Virtue," Harry repeated for perhaps the tenth time.

She ignored him, humming to herself some horrible half-baked composition she was improvising on the spot.

"Virtue."

Still nothing.

"Bloody hell fine!" Harry was fuming. "It's a Potty Party," he gritted through clenched teeth. He swore vengeance on whoever had come up with that password.

"There, now was that so hard?" the Fat Lady raised a painted eyebrow and posed with her hands on her hips.

"Just open the bloody door." Harry was a hair away from blasting open his own entrance.

Thankfully – for the Fat Lady's sake – the portrait swung open, and Harry finally was able to climb through.

"There he is! Our Chosen Boy – uh, I mean our Golden One – I… never mind, Harry's back everyone!"

The entire common room, which was packed with Gryffindor students as far as he could see, erupted into roars and raucous laughter. A clearly drunk Seamus Finnegan came stumbling over, goblet in hand, with Dean barely keeping the Irish boy upright.

"Alright, Harry?" he greeted pleasantly. Despite having to prop up his best friend, he appeared to be enjoying himself.

"Common room looks great, Dean," Harry complimented.

"Thanks, I had some help from Parvati and Lavender, you know how they love that kind of stuff."

The common area was fully decorated in Gryffindor regalia. Streamers, balloons, flags, and scarves were hanging off almost every surface available, along with the collection of posters that had been accumulated over the years. He always got a good chuckle from the one that painted a nude Oliver like Adonis. Food smuggled in from the kitchen was piled so high he was amazed it hadn't toppled over, and there was an entire table devoted to Butterbeer (you had to speak to the right person for the 'good stuff').

Standing proudly at the center of the room on a raised podium, like it was the Holy Grail itself, was the Quidditch Cup. Artificial spotlights that a particularly talented Charms student must have casted, caused the trophy to practically glow with brilliance. It was shined to a gleaming sheen, and Harry swore he could see his own reflection even from across the room.

"Dean, you don't know who came up with the newest password, do you?" Harry tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Umm…" Dean's eyes shifted to the side with his non-answer.

"Ha! I told you he'd like it Dean… it's a Potty Party – get it, because he's Harry. Bloody. Potter. Talked that cute new fifth year prefect into changing it – promised her I'd get her some whiskyyy-eeeiiiii!" Seamus' boast quickly turned into a girlish scream when he was hoisted upside-down in the air by his ankle.

Harry silently slipped his wand away.

"Oi! What's going on!" Seamus looked more confused than anything else, "Get me down! Get me down!" he wiggled in the air like a Flobberworm.

Dean, and most of the room who had stopped to look at the floating spectacle were laughing hysterically.

"Next time, don't be a git when naming the passwords," Harry laughed, before letting him down slowly.

He went in search of Ron and Hermione after that, passing through the crowds of celebrating students, being stopped occasionally for congratulations and inquiries to how he was feeling. A young couple stood red faced and mortified as an overzealous pair of seventh years were caught up in a competitive match of mouth wrestling, and making sounds that would make even a Dementor blush. Slipping past the public display, Harry was given the view of a lonely looking figure, partially hidden by the overstuffed material of the couches by the fireplace.

It took nearly all of Harry's limited self-control to not go over there and hex them senseless, maybe put to use the Prince's spell for uncontrollable toe-nail growth, but Harry persevered. In fact, the longer he looked, the more he felt his anger start to ebb away. In place of the loathsome prat that was Cormac McLaggen, was an unrecognizable pathetic looking being.

His back was turned to the rest of the party, trying to pretend it didn't exist. Harry could tell Cormac had been shut away from the celebration by the other students – he was the only one that seemed to notice his presence after all – and the effect it had on him was obvious. His appearance of disinterest was completely transparent, given how he had checked over his shoulder to what was going on around him about six times since Harry started watching him.

With his previous attitude and thoughts toward Cormac in mind, Harry was rightfully shocked when he felt pity well up inside him. He questioned his sanity with each step he took, not knowing what had gotten into him, but still his feet carried him towards the forsaken boy on the couch.

"Hey," Harry called out, as he tossed his own unopened Butterbeer to Cormac, who caught it on reflex alone.

"Potter?" Surprise flitted across the 7th year Gryffindor's face, having seen perhaps the last person he ever would have expected sit next to him. His features quickly returned to their previously depressed state, and he shrank back a bit in his chair.

"Last time I checked you were a part of the Gryffindor team – started in the last game actually – and I don't see any of them sitting by themselves."

Cormac's eyes flicked over to where the party was going on in full swing, "They don't want me there –"

"– because you nearly cost us the game… so I've been told." Harry smiled at the confused look on Cormac's face. If he was dead-set on taking pity on him, he would at least enjoy the moments where he made him look like an idiot.

"I almost killed you!"

It was true.

" _Almost_ ," Harry stressed the word, he could feel the tenderness of his scalp as he spoke. "More dangerous people have tried, McLaggen, and there's no way I'd let an enchanted iron ball do me in when Voldemort couldn't."

McLaggen flinched. "I'm sorry by the way," the apology was timid, which was strange in comparison to Cormac's normal demeanor. "It wasn't my best moment looking back at it, but Coote and Peakes weren't following Katie's tactics and were firing Bludgers at their beaters…"

"And you decided to do their job for them," Harry finished and Cormac nodded.

"You know," Harry started after a pause, "there's a reason Katie picked you for Keeper and not Beater… and it's a good thing too, otherwise we'd all be missing heads."

Cormac actually laughed at that, and some of his normal boisterousness leaked through, "You're funny Potter."

"Well, it was getting a bit pathetic watching you sit here like a kicked Crup, so I thought I'd come kick your arse and get you involved with the rest of us."

Cormac turned his head hesitantly, "They don't want me," his voice was self-conscious and hurt, as he gazed longingly at a group of upper year students shouting while playing a drinking game.

Harry could see just how distressed Cormac had been, and how poorly he had taken his treatment by the students. He could see how much this meant to him: playing on the team, winning the Quidditch Cup, and celebrating with the house.

It was in moments like this, that Harry forgot how simple life could be at times. Not everyone's lives were at the center of far-reaching events. Cormac wasn't some evil villain; he was just an arrogant teenage boy who wanted to show off and impress his friends and maybe bag a few birds along the way, not thinking of the consequences.

Perhaps being kind wasn't entirely too bad.

"I doubt they'll complain much when it's _me_ bringing _you_ over."

Cormac seemed to understand, if the enormous smile on his face was anything to go by.

Standing together, Harry only began to notice the attention the two of them had drawn, as nearly every pair of eyes was focused in their direction. Many gleamed with anticipation, likely expecting Harry to blow up at Cormac, while others softened as Harry's forgiveness began to dawn on them.

Before he could so much as react, Harry felt himself lifted up off the ground by a pair of powerful arms. Cormac must have had the strength of a troll, because Harry noticed that he'd barely grunted when picking him up. He was now looking down at the congregated Gryffindor's below his position on McLaggen's shoulders.

"Someone bring the trophy and some Ogden's!" he bellowed, the Cormac of old alive and thriving once again. "Potter's drinking from the cup!"

Cheers and whistles erupted in uncontained festivity, students loving every second of Harry being bounced around by McLaggen and seeing the rest of the Gryffindor team fill the cup with copious amounts of firewhiskey.

 _Potter! Potter! Potter!_

Chants accompanied the rise of the Quidditch Cup as it was levitated in the air. Slowly it began to tilt, and liquid started to pour out into Harry's open and awaiting mouth. Very little found its mark – most spilling on to Harry and Cormac, and the floor below – but that hardly hindered the enthusiasm of the crowd.

He stumbled upon hitting the floor once being let go. Cormac, having forgotten him in his newfound rush of elation at being the center of the party, was now alternating massive swigs from the lip of the cup with shouts of "GRYFFINDOR!"

Moving off to the side and finding a quieter portion of the room near the drinks table, Harry felt a towel pushed into his hand and mumbled a quick 'thanks' before wiping himself down. Ignoring the uncomfortable dribble of a lone drop he couldn't reach, slowly crawling its way down his back, Harry went to return the towel only to find himself face-to-face with Romilda Vane.

To say she wasn't gorgeous would be to tell it false. The girl had hit the genetic lottery, with thick black hair and wide dark eyes that threatened to pull you in, and the body of a much older witch. Her skirt was cut too short, and her blouse was tight and revealing in a way that was intentionally done to draw eyes. "Hi Harry," she smiled impishly with colored lips. Something about her seemed so very eager.

"Hi Romilda, err… thanks for the towel," Harry let it lamely flop in his hand.

"I just thought you might like it after what Cormac did. You played great by the way!" she said brightly. "Everyone loved it! Except what happened at the end – I was so scared for you," she touched him gently on the arm, giving him goosebumps.

Harry had seen the way many of the older and younger boys around the castle looked at Romilda – he couldn't blame them looking at her now. He knew what she was after, and it would be very easy to go along with; but there something about the way she looked at him, like he was some God made to worship, that held him back. Despite her outward appearance, she looked so terribly young, and that made him uncomfortable.

"I, uh, imagine it was pretty scary to look at…" Harry looked around the room and saw that much of the crowd had dispersed, with people returning to their own conversations and activities. "It was nice speaking to you, but I actually just came over here looking for a drink," he tried to make an excuse, only for it to backfire when he saw the table beside him was now empty.

"You can have some of mine," she offered with a grin, almost shoving the glass into his face.

"Uh… well – er, you see… I can't," Harry stalled to catch his wits. "I can't because I have a bad case of… the lurgies… yeah…"

"The lurgies?" Romilda eyes him, and Harry coughed awkwardly.

"Yeah, my friend Luna told me about them – says I have a really bad case of them... and I wouldn't want to pass it on to you."

They stared at each other for a prolonged moment, before Romilda perked up and gave him a blindingly white smile, as if Harry hadn't just blatantly lied to her face. "That's alright! My friend Mary had an extra Butterbeer earlier, I'll ask her," she said smoothly before grabbing a short blonde with pigtails and dragging her over.

Demelza walked passed Harry in that moment, her face strewn up in confusion at his present company. He prayed he managed to adequately convey his desperation in the second their eyes were locked before she continued away. She smelt of broom polish, and he wondered mindlessly if she'd just done maintenance or gone for a fly.

"I knew it!" Romilda half-giggled from his side, "See, I told you Mary had one!"

The pigtailed girl looked up at him nervously, her hand practically trembled when passing him the bottle. It was cold, so that was nice at least.

"Thanks," Harry said trying to be nice.

The girl simply squeaked and ran away, disappearing into the throngs of people still partying. He'd forgotten how strange much of the younger year girls acted around him.

"Do you wa –"

Whatever Romilda was about to say, was cut off, "Mate! There you are, I need a partner for Nessie."

Harry loved Ron.

"Uh… yeah! Are we on now?"

"Of course! Get your scrawny arse moving, I'm not going to let Dean and Seamus claim dorm room bragging rights," Ron shouted before leading Harry away from Romilda, who was staring the two of them down.

"We aren't actually playing Nessie, are we? You know how much I hate that game."

Out of all the queer magical drinking games Harry had been introduced to over the years, Nessie the Kelpie was perhaps the strangest. It involved a person playing the role of the Kelpie, with a mouth full of water, while their partner (the rider) sat atop their back and fired stinging jinxes at the other team. The first team to fall over or have their 'Kelpie' spit the water out of its mouth, would lose and had to drink.

"No we're not," Ron said, and Harry blew out a breath of relief. "Can't even if we wanted to. Seamus is passed out by the steps to the girl's dorms, and Dean is trying to keep people from messing around with his body."

"Did you just eat treacle tart?"

"What?" Ron looked at him strangely, "I had some of those really good lemon tarts the elves make, but I didn't see any treacle if that's what you're asking."

Harry shook his head, "Never mind, I just thought I smelt some that's all. I've barely had anything to eat or drink today, all of Pomfrey's food tasted like blood-replenisher for some reason."

"Rank," Ron scrunched up his face in disgust. "Demelza's the one who told me where you to find you by the way."

"I could kiss that girl."

"I can't wait to tell all my friends that, Harry," Demelza popped out from seemingly nowhere, "but I don't want to catch the lurgies."

" _Lurgies_?" Ron looked at Harry in confusion.

"Don't ask," Harry shook his head, as Demelza giggled while walking away.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, raising the bottle up to his lips to relieve the scratching of thirst at the back of his throat.

He smelt lavender.

" _Hermione went off to get some more sandwiches from the kitchen with Ginny_. _She said something about S.P.E.W. and paying the house elves for their service, since nobody else will…"_

Ron's voice faded away into the background.

Something tickled at the back of his mind. Why was he smelling lavender?

In fact, he could smell the broom polish and treacle again as well.

 _Oh no_ …

The thought ran through his mind once, before he threw his bottle to the ground.

His reaction was too late; he'd already had a sip.

" _Harry? Harry! What's going on?"_ Ron's voice was fuzzy in his ears.

He had no time. He pushed away from his friend, much more forcefully than he wanted to, and sprinted towards the exit.

Every step was excruciating.

 _Romilda…_

The name rattled about his consciousness.

He could feel his body slow as he ran at the portrait hole. A part of him was drawn back to the common room, grasping and pulling with unnatural strength. The world in front of him stretched further and further down an endless hallway. He took a thousand steps and one, yet he still found himself in the same position, trapped in this eternal prison.

 _Romilda Vane._

He could feel his body giving in to the temptation. The sweet sound of her name called out to him with the promise of pleasure. He needed her.

" _This potion can destroy lives…"_

Slughorn's words flitted across his mind, slipping through the shadowy grasp of the lust beating through him, and helping him fight. Darkness came overhead, suffocating what little light was left, serving as the premonition of an unholy storm.

 _You love her…_

He could feel the potion – no, the poison – coursing through his veins, spreading its influence and corrupting his very being.

 _Go to her._

He was out of breath. His lungs were pumping madly, screaming for any sort of relief, but instead of oxygen he only drew in more of her essence.

He was losing.

He could taste chocolate and almond and ink in his mouth, the sensations assaulting him without remorse. He wanted to retch. They were harsh and felt entirely wrong.

 _Love her…_

It called to him – no longer in its enticing and sensual tone, but viciously like some savage monster that would sooner kill you than let you run away. It was ferocious as it clawed and tore away at his resolve.

 _Love her._

He wanted to love her.

 _Love her!_

It would be so easy.

 _You want her!_

Chocolate and almond and ink. He didn't want Romilda. The sensations were transforming into something much sweeter.

 _She is yours!_

She wasn't. It was broom polish and fresh treacle tart and lavender he grasped onto now. He loved another.

A sudden awareness came about him. His mouth was open, as liquid was poured down his throat. Light was returning to the world, chasing away the foulness that plagued him, and the obsession and lust that came with it. Breathing came easy to him now, the unconscious rhythm of inhaling and exhaling had never been more welcome.

He could feel someone holding him, their hand running through the back of his hair.

Blue eyes peered down into his own.

His mind was in a daze when he felt the soft touch of lips, and it took a second more for him to realize they were on his own. They moved in tandem, a slow dance to which they alternated leads, with no particular goal in mind other than to enjoy each other's attentions.

He heard a purr of satisfaction when he bit down lightly on her bottom lip, sucking on it before moving his tongue to tangle with hers.

The sweet taste of her mouth gave him something to focus on in his current state. The world was foggy around him, like he was travelling through a misty lake with nothing more than a simple _lumos_ charm. He enjoyed what he was feeling however, and that was enough for him in that moment.

The softness of her skin under his hands had him moving them to anyplace untouched by clothing, the sensation driving him mad.

They were two starving beasts, devouring one another with a wildness that was more fight than fancy. She was gripping his face in desperation, nails clawing into his skin in a way that made him growl. He could feel her pleased smile form through their locked lips.

They were pressed up against what felt to be a desk. Harry wasn't entirely sure when that had happened, his mind out of focus and skipping in time like a faulty time-turner. He flipped his partner up and onto the tabletop, his mouth latching on to the tender skin of her neck, inciting a soft, pleased moan from her mouth.

She shivered under his touch, a firm hand travelling up the flatness of her stomach until it reached a rounded mound.

Pulling back through the haze, he could see her form partially hidden in the shadows, but what was illuminated by the pooling moonlight stole his breath away. Smooth sloping skin arched down from the curve of her shoulders and led to the discovery of her exposed breasts, creamy to the touch, and the nipple hard in his mouth.

 _When had she taken off her shirt?_

She gasped and squirmed in delight, as he nipped and sucked at the pointed bud, her breaths coming out fast and ragged under his efforts.

He was lost in euphoria, but also that of the present moment. Was this a dream? It felt like he was a passenger in his own body, with no control over what he was doing – free will locked away to the ongoing events.

An odd sensation caught his attention, and he looked down to see something long and hard in hands that weren't his own. It was twitching with undeniable pleasure as it was drawn close to flawless bare skin and puffy pink lips.

 _When had they both gotten naked?_

Whatever was running through his mind was quickly forgotten as she jerked forward, his length slipping along her folds creating a friction that had them both gasping and groaning. There was a rough, unsteady rhythm to their coordinated movements, until he felt himself slip into wetness.

He stopped.

"No," he breathed out, his mind addled and unsure of the events around him.

"No…" he whispered again, feeling her hand guiding him back in.

Was he speaking of himself or her?

"Yes." He heard the word through the haze, just as she captured his lips again.

"Yes, I want this. I need this."

She wanted it. So did he. But with who?

He didn't find an answer before finding himself sinking into her.

She whimpered, but guided him further, rocking back and forth and gripping him tightly as if she didn't want to let him go.

Soon their pace was frantic, skin slapping against skin, he moaned in satisfaction as he felt the tightness of her walls pressing against him. Time meant little to him as they kept their motion, an immense pressure building up within his core. Each second that passed he found that it grew exponentially, his grunts increasing in volume along with her shouts.

She clenched, and he burst.

They collapsed on top of one another, intertwined, panting, and shaking. The darkness obscuring the figure of his lover, who had yet to let him go.

Trying to ground himself in reality and not succumb to the mist of his mind, Harry pressed his face into their silky hair and inhaled deeply.

He wished he hadn't.

He smelt peaches, not lavender.

 **AN2:**

 **There it is, another update! First I just want to say that I noticed a few of you were worried about the pairing and the changes to the story description. It is still a Harry/Fleur pairing. I have just been playing around with aspects of the story description lately, to better match how the story has gone so far and to the direction it will be going in the future. It's tough to balance, given how the tone of the second arc will be much more 'adventure' rather than 'drama.' The first arc is really building up the relationships and events in Harry's life that shape the person he is.**

 **If you are conflicted about the ending or a tad bit confused, that is done on purpose, it is meant to be an** **ambiguous and divisive moment. Let me know your thoughts! Also this almost the last of the Fleur and Daphne drama, with it all coming to a head in the next two chapters.**

 **I hope you all liked my Quidditch scene. I was watching a football (soccer) match in the background while writing it, and that influence is definitely evident in the text. Thought I would make Quidditch a huge deal, because who doesn't love sports fanatics! Let me know if you found it somewhat exciting/fun to read, because I know how a lot of Quidditch scenes are boring and hard to work through as a reader.**

 **I did make Megan gay, it was hinted throughout the story, but I know it's difficult to remember things from early on in case there was any confusion.**

 **I think the AN has been going on long enough, I could write endlessly, but if there's anything specific you're concerned about or picked up on or thought was interesting, leave a review or PM me.**

 **Until Next Time.**


	17. Chapter 17

The air was fresh and thin, an endless expanse of white stretching around him, only the burning sky splattered with red, like the blood of a fresh wound, gave any color. He was in the mist again. An inescapable void that held nothing but painful silence and shifting shadows.

He found himself in limbo, a torturous purgatory where he felt vulnerable, floating with nothing beneath his feet and nothing to hold on to. The shadows encroached on him, sliding and pressing and wrapping around his body, like unseen chains slicked with oil. He'd been in this place before, and its familiarity was haunting.

Drops of crimson fell from the raging hellfire of the sky, raining blood and pulsing with life like that of the human heart. A heart of passion, a heart of love.

Liquid trailed into his mouth, staining his lips red. But instead of copper, he tasted the sweetness of fruit, but not one that brought him any joy.

Voices whispered in his ears like the rustling of leaves, hidden beyond a veil that would never be lifted.

He knew these voices well, layered on top of one another, echoing and bouncing and lying.

 _Trust._

The word pulled at his mind with something akin to regret and mercy, like it was seeking his forgiveness amongst despair.

Light slipped and shifted around him, the mist clearing for the first time he could remember, drawing him through forcefully. Before him was a field of purple, filling the air with its soothing fragrance. He felt safe, he felt loved, he felt at home. The world skipped and the vision flashed, and his hand held a red stone as he approached a palace. In a blink, the stone was gone and the palace was now a bastion of darkness. On and on it went, skipping like a broken projector, faster than the mind could process. A phoenix's mournful song, a strange triangle carved into the forgotten tower of a fortress, a stuffed wolf amongst its pack, three brothers and the meeting of two, sad blue eyes filled with the grief of loss but the joy of gain, the wailing of a child in the charred ruin of a house.

He was back on the floor of a cold unused classroom.

 _Harry!_

Violated and confused.

"Harry!"

He blinked to see the Ron's blue eyes searching his. "You disappeared again… are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah…" his voice was unconvincing, "yeah, I'm fine."

"Right, well, Flitwick is starting to notice and I'd sooner not get assigned more homework. _Repente._ " Ron picked up the teacup his spell had just hit, and dropped it to the floor where it fell with a dull _thud_.

"Perhaps a little more practice Mr. Weasley," Flitwick commented as he passed by Hermione, who's charm work resulted in a number of different objects bouncing up and down on her desk.

"Mr. Potter if you please?" The diminutive man gestured to Harry for a demonstration.

"Oh, er… sure," Harry was still trying to catch his bearings while pulling out his wand.

" _Repente_."

Flitwick picked up the cup and dropped it to the floor, only for it to bounce up and nearly hit him in the nose.

"Excellent work Mr. Potter… though perhaps instead of dozing off in class you could offer some help to Mr. Weasley," the charms professor eyed him strangely, as if surprised the spell had worked.

Ron was grumbling all through the rest of class, and out of it, as they moved to the Great Hall for supper.

"How did you manage to pull that off? You weren't paying attention for the entire lecture! It's bloody unfair…"

"I don't know," Harry responded truthfully, he'd never so much as attempted that charm before. "It's fairly basic as charms go, I guess."

"Basic? It's a NEWT level charm!"

Hermione turned from their side and looked like she wanted to say something, but never got the chance as green robes slipped between the three of them.

"Potter."

"Blaise," Harry greeted the dark-skinned boy.

"What do you want Zabini?" Ron's voice was dripping with suspicion.

"I don't particularly like playing messenger, but I made an exception this one time," Blaise continued to Harry, completely ignoring Ron much to the redhead's irritation. He passed over a slip of paper.

Harry stopped, his blood running cold for a moment before warming suddenly. "What does she want?" The note crumpled in his fist.

"Not sure what's going on," he replied flippantly. For whatever reason Harry found himself unconvinced to his proclaimed ignorance.

"And if I don't go?" Harry's words were a threat, but he wasn't sure he believed them himself.

"Don't know," the Slytherin shrugged, slipping behind the trio of Gryffindors, "but it seemed urgent." He turned down a hallway, and disappeared out of view before another word could be spoken.

"What was that all about –"

"I need to go," Harry's tone was clipped, already turning to leave his friends.

"Wait! Harry what's wrong?" Hermione reached out to grasp his arm, but he'd already moved too far away.

"Nothing – no… it's just – I need to go."

He didn't hear what they said next, or if they attempted to follow him as he ran. His mind was closed off to everything around him except the paper in his fist.

Emotions rushed through him; more than he had ever experienced before, and more than he could possibly hope of deciphering at once. But through them, he felt an incurable fear that threw him from his center, shattering his equilibrium.

Despite this, he continued his upward trek through the castle. One foot in front of the other, climbing staircase after staircase, past masses of students moving the opposite direction and leading him to a place he wasn't sure he wanted to be.

He passed under the ladder leading to Trelawney's tower, and felt a gentle tug. He paused and looked around, not finding anyone near him, but yet the pulling sensation continued like a needling feeling acting on the fringes of his magic, goading him to climb up. He felt dread in the air around him, something important was hanging precariously in the balance, but he shook the feeling from his head and continued on his way not wanting to dwell on the perilous and flighty nature of the magic that resided in Trelawney's tower.

The astronomy tower was typically abandoned most times of the day, with only Professor Sinistra stopping by in the evenings to set up for her midnight classes. Beyond that, it was a popular spot for stargazers, and even more so for those looking for some private snogging.

Composed of three spiralling landings, supported by carved buttresses in the likes of legendary creatures, it was an impressive sight to behold. Reaching up to the highest point of the castle, it sat open to the sky providing a breathtaking overlook of the grounds of Hogwarts, and the landscape of mountains and forests beyond. It was layered in a way that resembled a wedding cake, each tier giving an unobstructed view of the hidden world above them. Floating in the hollow center of the tower, was a whirling scale of the galaxy, clicking mechanically in a steady rhythm. He was surprised students didn't come up here more often.

It was on the top level, with the warmth of the nearing spring sun kissing down on them, that he found Daphne. She wasn't wearing her Hogwarts robes, which was odd considering they had classes today, instead wearing a sleek navy robe that swallowed the late afternoon light. Her eyes were wet, and open with shock, "You came?" she sounded surprised.

Harry didn't answer right away. He maintained his distance, circling the edge of the battlement instead, his hand trailing the weather worn stone of the castle's exterior. "Blaise said it was urgent." He felt dizzy looking out at the emerging green and the first blooms beneath the disappearing snow, but not from the height.

"I… I'm –" Her voice caught in her throat when Harry turned his gaze to her. "Harry… I'm sorry, I never –"

"It's fine." His mind and body felt detached from his voice. Words seemed to have failed him, as he now was grasping hold to the side of the castle, more for support than anything else. "It was both of us… we both did it."

"No! Gods, no, it wasn't!" she drew closer, shaking both in voice and in step. "Harry, I shouldn't have, it was wrong."

"I liked it didn't I?" he felt lightheaded when asking. "I didn't stop us."

His words didn't seem to have any positive effect on Daphne, only drawing more tears from her beautiful blue eyes.

It was then he found himself questioning what he said. Did he really enjoy it? Could he have ended what they started? He wasn't sure, and that scared him more than anything.

"You weren't in any state to do anything, and I… I r-ra –"

"No!" Harry snapped like a wounded beast, cornered, and injured, and afraid. "Don't use that word!" He could feel himself falling back and flying through the mist, just like that night.

Daphne shook with emotion, and desperately lunged to hold him.

He flinched at her touch, the scent of peaches making his head spin dangerously. He wanted to slap her, to make her feel his hurt. But as sudden as a flash of lightening, he was clutching to her fiercely and protectively, wanting to shield her from the pain he was feeling. He pulled back and thrust his lips against hers, hoping it would clear the turbulence of his confusion, but instead it surged and threatened to drown him.

He was a mess, much to his shame, and hated himself for it.

He pushed violently away from Daphne, causing the girl to nearly stumble to the floor.

What was wrong with him?

"Why?" he breathed out.

"I needed you – to show you how much I… I had to before I left."

"You're leaving?" Harry felt his stomach drop.

Daphne nodded, her eyes red and puffy, and lips trembling to the point she couldn't open her mouth to speak.

Everything started to fall in place around him. Daphne's distance and pained expressions after returning from the holidays, Astoria's argument with their father, her recent forwardness and desperation, the urgent nature of their meeting, her unconventional dress.

"When?"

"Now."

He knew he should have been, but he wasn't surprised. He was a fool – a damned fool. He wanted to laugh and cry and curse and scream, but did none; choosing rather to stand still and stare at the girl who'd done so much to him. It was all too mad.

He could see the heartbreak in the depths of her eyes, like cracked jewels, but couldn't find it in himself to care in that moment.

"Father's taking us to the continent, he doesn't want to risk the war," Daphne explained, looking to Harry for some sort of understanding, but finding none. "I don't want to leave, I swear it! But Daddy doesn't like the way things are going. He's made arrangements for our safety, and we have to go. I didn't have a choice," she shivered while speaking, clutching her stomach as if on the verge of being sick.

 _Zis Daphne might say she loves you and do sweet things for you, but in ze end she will leave. She eez ze one who comes first, and when eet matters she will not be ze one to stay and stand by your side…_

Fleur's words came back to him in that moment, taunting him with their prophetic nature.

Harry was laughing now – laughing at the great prank the world had just pulled on him.

… _at least Daphne is honest…_

Honest indeed. Oh how wrong he'd been. He was shaking at the hilarity of it all, tears coming to his eyes.

"Harry, please…"

He could feel her frantic hands in his.

"Please, Harry…" She pulled his face down so he could look into her eyes, perhaps for the last time. "Please don't forget me… don't forget _us_."

Something hard was thrust into his hand.

He looked down to see an amber locket, and when he looked back up, she was gone.

If he ran he likely could catch her, beg her to stay, look for more answers, but he saw no reason to do so. It would all be for nought; this was the way the world willed it to be, and there was no wisdom in fighting it.

He wasn't sure how long he stood at the top of the astronomy tower; the sun having fallen, releasing starbursts of colors in the sky, and a chill crawling up his skin. Time was lost to him, but he was certain of one thing – Daphne was gone.

He felt numb, whether from the cold or exhaustion he wasn't sure, and slowly descended from the tower. His mind was blank, and his feet carried him aimlessly not searching for any particular location. Eventually they led him to an out of the way bathroom on the seventh, one he wasn't sure he had ever used before. Something caught his attention however; not the bathroom itself, as it was fairly plain as Hogwarts washrooms went, but it was the sound of retching from within.

Hunched over one of the carved basins, was a darkly clad figure hacking and gagging with such brutality that flecks of blood could be seen in clear contrast with the pale stone. It was a pitying sight, seeing the bones of their skeletal frame poking harshly through the fabric of their robe. How was a student allowed to walk around Hogwarts in this condition, without Pomfrey strapping them forcefully to a bed?

They were coughing again, deep, phlegmy, and painful, before taking in a horrifying gasp of air that sounded like their soul was being sucked out of their body. Harry moved to aid, his footstep echoing off the tile floor and stone walls, and the figure stilled immediately.

He thought he was staring at a ghost; their skin faded to the point it was near translucent, if not for the sickening yellow hue that spread in patches, but also because of their invisible presence throughout the castle.

"Potter." Malfoy spat, his voice a weak rasp of air, but still managing to hold the same hatred that grew between them over the years.

"Not sure you can handle that," Harry provoked, pointing to where the blonde was reaching into his pocket.

Malfoy's pale, wormy lips pulled back into a snarl, but he paused, clearly knowing he wasn't in any state for a confrontation.

"Following me around now are you? What, Greengrass finally go and leave you then?"

Harry could feel his temper boil at the mention of Daphne, and the smirk on Draco's corpse-like face suggested he noticed this.

"Oh, she did now, did she?" he drawled, some extra life was injected into Malfoy all of a sudden. "It was only a matter of time, her family is old and respected, and it wouldn't do consorting with half-blood's like you."

Harry held his temper back – just. Malfoy didn't know what happened between him and Daphne, he was only looking to get a rise out of him.

"Knowing what you've been up to, Malfoy, I should have been following you for months."

Malfoy froze at this, rooted to the ground in shock, eyes wide and filled with fear.

"I should kill you here and now for what you did to Katie," Harry shot.

"Stop!" Malfoy stumbled back, his body racked with uncontrollable tremors. "Stop… I don't know what you're talking about."

"What, was getting sent here to kill Dumbledore not enough?" Harry could smell blood in the air.

"Lies!" Malfoy was gagging on air.

"What did Cho ever do to you?"

"I said stop!" Malfoy roared, spittle flying out of his mouth, and his greasy, thin hair falling in front of his teary eyes. His wand was out now, panicked and pointed loosely at Harry, setting him on edge.

Harry had grown tired of this, the secrets, the subterfuge, and the game of shadows that played with innocent lives. He cared not for what Snape or Dumbledore wanted in that moment, he would get the information out of Malfoy one way or another, and he would stop him before anyone else was hurt. Consequences be damned – it had gone on long enough – he would end it.

His gaze was severe, as he stared deeply into Malfoy's grey eyes. There was shock in the glazed orbs, and the further he dug, there was an overwhelming sense of terror. He could feel Malfoy's hysteria, swirling with unrest in the depths of his mind, and slowly working away at the boys frayed sanity.

He was lost for a moment – lost in whatever strange connection there was between his and Malfoy's mind. He floated out of consciousness and without the anchor of his body, existing in a foreign plane, that more than anything else felt like the mind of a scared child.

There was a flash where he saw a bespectacled boy with wild green eyes – himself, he quickly realized – and felt a surge of jealousy, resent, and panic. Like a worm burrowing deeper underground, he sunk further and further, feeling emotions and catching glimpses of memories that weren't his.

There was a pair of red eyes and pride for the apparent honour bestowed upon him. In his hands was a bag that held a necklace, a corked bottle, and phials that held a crystal liquid that glowed green in certain light. A sense of resolve settled about him, as he gazed at a beautiful blonde with red-rimmed eyes filled with unconditional love. He felt anxiousness as he poured a phial over a giant pulsing crystal, that sizzled and sparked at the liquids corrosive touch. There was frustration over a black cabinet. He was laying over his love with horror and anguish and soul-splitting pain, because a careless discovery and a spell gone wrong. He saw an opal necklace and unsure instructions, with a gifted bottle of mead. He was filled with desperation and panic and the need to alert his…

Harry felt something slam painfully against his mind, throwing him through time and space and twisting darkness, and hurtling back into his earthly form with such force he stumbled into the wall.

" _Crucio_!"

Harry just barely ducked under the red light that slammed behind him, shattering stone and tile in its explosion. Malfoy looked positively primal. He held his wand with a white-knuckle grip, as it snapped through the air with a _bang_ sending a spell Harry was forced to shield against. A bin exploded at the far end of the room from the reflected spell, sending its contents into the air.

"Why can't you keep your nose in your own business! _Crucio!_ "

Harry was forced to duck behind a stall, the metal crumpling with a _crunch_ upon impact.

Harry blasted the broken stall back at Malfoy, charming the disfigured metal to be as hard as stone. There was a satisfying cry of pain when Malfoy could only partially protect himself from the projectile.

"Just die Potter!" Blood dripped from his shattered nose, staining his robes right alongside the dried vomit.

Water was shooting up in a great geyser from the broken pipes, and Harry directed the flow of water to wrap around Malfoy's ankles like vines and pull his feet from under him.

His chin was split, the rest of his face a bloody mess, and Harry found the sight satisfying to behold. Pulling himself to his feet, and soaked to the bone, Malfoy glared at Harry with malice.

"Avada Ked –"

Harry saw red upon hearing those words leave Malfoy's mouth. After everything he'd done and said over the years, and the pain he'd caused – hurting and killing innocents because of Voldemort – forced Harry to snap.

A scarlet ribbon slashed through the air, and right through Malfoy. Hidden daggers punctured his body, his life's blood mixing amidst the watery floor and splattering against the cracked mirrors and chipped basins.

Surprise flittered across Malfoy's increasingly pale features, before realization settled in and eventually what looked to be… relief? He tumbled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, whimpering with each ragged breath, blood oozing from grievous dark wounds along his mutilated chest.

Harry stood still, his eyes never leaving the slowly dying form of Draco Malfoy.

He had done this, the thought flitted across his mind. He had done this to Malfoy without a moment of hesitation. The truth turned his stomach, and he emptied its contents in the blood stained water.

The door burst open and Harry was flung roughly to the side. Billowing black robes came rushing past him, cursing, and kneeling beside Malfoy's broken form. Chanting under his breath, and pulling his wand across the lacerations of Malfoy's chest, Snape stemmed the blood flow. Repeating his actions in an ever turning cycle, the damage looked to be undoing itself, the wounds knitting together, and stable breaths returning to the body.

Standing from his position, blood and water spread across his clothing, Snape black eye's tore into his own. "Finally snapped, Potter? Just like your father and Black, you resort to murder."

"I didn't –" Harry paused knowing that wasn't true, he knew exactly what he was doing. "I wasn't…"

He felt a familiar stab at his mind.

"No!" Harry shouted, pulling out his wand, "Get out of my head!" He had never been any good at Occlumency, and knew it was only a matter of time before Snape slipped further in.

"What are you hiding, Potter?"

Harry was hiding a great many things, and he could slowly feel images of everything he had kept hidden over the years be pulled to the surface of his mind. He couldn't allow this to happen.

A flash of blue flames came spurting out the end of his wand, capturing Snape's attention, and cutting his connection to his mind.

"You dare?" The last of the conjured flames were extinguished with a flick of his wand. Fury was etched across every line of his sallow face, and Harry half expected to hear the sound of cracking teeth, his jaw was clenched so tightly. He had pushed Snape further than he had ever before, and it was near terrifying.

Dark spiralling ropes came shooting out the end of Snape's wand, and Harry cut them with an upward sweep of his wand. Harry was nearly caught off guard when he saw a familiar wand movement and felt the tug on his ankle that accompanied the Levicorpus spell. How did Snape know the spell? Harry quickly dispelled it with its counter, just before he would have been dragged head over heels in the air.

Snape's eyes widened a touch, not expecting his successful defence, and a cold, ugly sneer spread across his lips.

Another curse from the Prince's book came flying his way, the one that made someone's toenails grow at an incredible rate, and Harry dispelled it. This was followed by the Langlock hex, which he cancelled and sent right back, only for it to fizz out of existence.

Snape was smiling now. A cold, cruel smile that set Harry on edge.

Spell after spell, each as unique as the next, and each increasingly more dangerous than the one before, were sent Harry's way. He could visualize each spell, crammed into the margins of his potions book in the neat, tiny scrawl of the Half-Blood Prince, and Snape used each spell with a flawless familiarity Harry could only hope to achieve.

"It's you," Harry breathed out in realization. It was too soft to hear over the clash of spells, but the manic expression on Snape's face, told him he knew the secret was out.

Snape was the Half-Blood Prince. It was Snape helping him cruise through potions class this year, and Snape who had provided invaluable advice in his writings and useful spells Harry would never had otherwise known existed. Just the thought of that set his blood to a boil.

A gurgle could be heard off to the side, the sound of someone helplessly choking on something. Snape immediately dropped to Malfoy's side again, abandoning his exchange with Harry.

For a split-second, when Snape's back was turned and vulnerable while tending to his student, Harry had the overpowering urge to cast one final devastating spell at his exposed form.

His wand twitched in his hand, but the feeling quickly vanished, and instead Harry fled the bathroom.

He could hardly believe what just happened. The world shimmered around him like he was living in a dream rather than reality. He'd almost killed Malfoy. He duelled with Snape, and wanted to kill him as well. What was wrong with him? He could feel his stomach heave, but there was nothing there but dry air.

He needed to speak to Dumbledore – to explain what had happened, and tell him what he discovered.

The familiar sight of a drop-down ladder met him as he rounded the corner, the magic in the air calling to him as it had before. This time however, he was in no state to resist its alluring pull and slowly climbed up to the lowly tower classroom.

The classroom looked the same as it had in the past – small tables scattered with an assortment of crystal balls and tea cups and tarot cards; and its outer surfaces draped in heavy blood-red curtains, and the floor lined with thick carpeting, which made the room sweltering compared to the rest of the castle. The air was stale and oppressive, and choke-filled with the scent of burning incense and cooking sherry, making his head swim unpleasantly.

"A lone figure draped in blood," the wisp of a voice tickled his ear, "I had read your arrival," Harry spun around to see Trelawney staring deeply into a cup of tea with her wide-lensed glasses.

"You could have just looked at my robes when I walked in," Harry countered, gesturing to his stained clothing.

"Perhaps… but I have seen much and more," she tittered, dropping the porcelain to the table with a _clink_.

"That's just a pile of leaves," Harry pointed out, looking at the aggregation of organic material.

"A pile of leaves for some, but for others it is a story woven through the fates if gifted with the _sight_ – stitched together by the magic of actions taken and not. You were always a fascinating subject, so much of what I see and read is centred around you..."

"Then tell me what you see," Harry said taking the seat across the Seer. He was desperate for answers, needing something to make sense for once.

"I see a great many things – always changing, always shifting with the wind. Perhaps had you come time ago, the eye would be clear."

"Tell me anything." He stared imploring at Trelawney, who was gazing off to the distance.

"Drink," she finally spoke, pushing a second already filled cup into his hands.

The tea was warm in his hands as he raised it to his lips. Was this really what he wanted to do? He paused in doubt. Prophecy was dangerous, Dumbledore had always told him so – it was best not to know and avoid falling into its self-fulfilling trap. This course of action was not wise.

Before his nerve left him, Harry tilted the cup, draining its contents and swallowing with a gag and a grimace. The taste was bitter, like some poison in his mouth.

She snatched the cup out of his hands, examining it with her foggy eyes, while speaking silently to herself. She dipped a skeletal finger into the residue, before sucking on it tightly and jumping out of her chair with a gasp. The cup clattered to the ground just as her chair did, the woman clutched tightly to her chest with short gulping breaths.

"What?" Harry needed to know what she saw.

"The skull and serpent…" she breathed, frantically moving throughout the room and searching desks and cupboards.

"What does it mean?" Harry moved to her, just as she pulled out a bottle of sherry and drank heavily from it.

"It means death and destruction and evil…" Trelawney looked to be having a fit, "Darkness is on its way. It is inevitable, and coming for us all. Two paths converge into one, your actions serving as its catalyst, bringing to a close untimely events. I see the fall of kings, and further betrayal, and in you I see only darkness."

Harry's blood ran cold.

"Tell me –"

"Out!" Trelawney shrieked, throwing her bottle at him. "Get out! I won't have your ill-fated presence here any longer!"

Like a banshee, she screeched to the point Harry feared his ears were bleeding. He jumped down the ladder, escaping down empty hallways, his head ringing all the way with her unearthly screams.

"Harry?"

He heard a voice but ignored it, too caught up in trying clear his mind from everything going on. His stomach was churning like the sea in a storm, but there was nothing he could do to settle it. His forehead was pressed against the stone wall, taking in just the slightest hint of relief at its cool touch on his burning skin.

"Harry," he felt his body turn, and found himself gazing up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. "My boy, are you alright?"

It was Dumbledore. He must have looked a sight.

"I'm… fine, sir," he coughed while speaking. "The blood's not mine – I don't think, at least."

Dumbledore's lips curled into a tight smile. "Harry, are you certain you are alright?"

"Yes," he grunted, pulling himself up, "I need to tell you something, sir."

"If it is in relation to Mr. Malfoy, I am already quite aware," he frowned, and Harry looked away guiltily. "I understand the source of your anger better than most, the damage he has caused to this school and my charges is unforgivable. But Harry, I can't pretend to understand your reasoning for attacking him so brazenly, given the precariousness of our situation."

"I found out what Malfoy was up to. He attacked me – tried using the Cruciatus Curse on me."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, "He resorted to an Unforgiveable… that could be of use in case the situation gets out of hand. But you say he told you his plans?" There was confusion on his face.

"No, he didn't tell me exactly – I think it might have been… legilimency." He was unsure what it actually was in truth, but it was the only explanation that made sense in his mind.

"He would never have expected you to hold such a skill…" Dumbledore breathed out, his blue eyes twinkling with pride as he looked to Harry, "Occlumency and Legilimency are said to be two sides of the same coin, but still Legilimency is an art that is much more difficult to master. Mr. Malfoy guarded himself well in the presence of myself and Professor Snape, but left himself exposed in your presence."

"I don't understand, sir… how was I just able to pull it off?"

"I could think of a number of reasons, much of it guesswork and difficult to prove. I would simply remind you of what I once said in regards to the bending of rules for individuals such as ourselves, my boy."

Harry nodded, delighting in the fact Dumbledore spoke as if they were equals. "I remember seeing a large cabinet, and Malfoy pouring poison on some magic crystal – oh, and it was Malfoy who killed Pansy!" Harry recounted with horror, the shock of the final discovery still as powerful as when he first found out.

"I had suspected the fate of Miss Parkinson was the result of a faulty memory charm, but to know it was by someone she loved and trusted," Dumbledore wiped at his eyes as he spoke. "And it was a crystal you saw, and a magical cabinet?"

"Yes – at least I think so, I don't know where they are exactly."

"Worrisome indeed," Dumbledore pulled at his beard, "but an issue that can be dealt with on the morrow. Tonight, we are headed to find a Horcrux. That is, if you are willing to join me?"

"Of course! Are we going now?" the fact he sounded like an excited child ready to go to the cinema, when in reality he was going out in search of a Dark Lord's soul was not lost on Harry. Nor was it on Dumbledore, if the smirk and shake of the head were anything to go by.

"We are headed to the coast," Dumbledore replied, leading Harry up in the direction of his office. "To an unpleasant place we had once glimpsed in the memory of Amy Benson."

"To the cave?" Harry asked as they climbed the final steps and entered his office.

"Precisely," he rummaged through his desk, organizing papers and putting them away. "Now before we depart," Dumbledore stopped, his voice taking on a serious quality, "there is the potential of us encountering significant danger, and I believe you are long past the need of such foolish restrictions – your wand."

Harry passed it into his awaiting hand, and watched with interest as Dumbledore weaved his magic over that of the wand.

"Now, let us be on our way," Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's arm, and they apparated away together.

* * *

Harry stood shivering violently in place, the chill of the sea air was positively freezing on his wet skin and soaked clothing. The swim to reach the inner cave was brief but agonizing, his fingers were numb and fumbled for his wand. The warming charm was poorly cast by him and his icy fingers, but it felt like the kiss of life upon his skin.

Dumbledore stood across from him, the sliver of his hair and the golden stars that decorated his robes, shimmered in the streaming moonlight pouring in from a hole in the rocky ceiling above. He looked perfectly calm and untouched by the frigid air. He looked around keenly, "Do you sense it, Harry?"

Harry took in their environment. The water beneath them was inky black, blending in with the slimy walls that shone like tar and the low hanging ceiling. The darkness swallowed the light at the tip of Dumbledore's wand. They stood at the end of a tunnel, but it felt as if they were standing in the center of a giant chasm.

"There's something beyond what we're seeing," Harry stated, walking along the walls that closed in around them. It was a strange sensation, feeling as if you could stretch yourself out but not having the physical space for it.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, "a wonderful bit of concealment magic, but not one that avoids leaving traces." The old wizard stepped deliberately in the direction of small crack in the wall. "How primitive, Tom…" Dumbledore shook his head in disappointment.

Harry stepped beside him, immediately getting the sense that the wall was hungry for something.

Dumbledore pointed his wand, muttering a phrase under his breath, and a glowing white archway appeared in front of them. It flickered for a long moment, before disappearing entirely.

"The magic here is cruel," Harry stated with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Such is the way of Voldemort. The payment for passage is blood, in the hopes of weakening any that may enter," Dumbledore said, lifting up the base of his glove and pulling his wand slowly across the bottom of his palm.

The darkness of the cave made it difficult to make out, but he saw Dumbledore spread a black oozing liquid over the wall, which drank it greedily. Almost immediately, the brilliant white archway returned and shifted the stone into an entrance to its inner sanctum.

Just like in the memory, they travelled through total darkness and eventually arrived at the green lake, glowing eerily with mist rising from its completely still waters. The aura around them was malevolent. Harry could see the collection of rocks near the water's edge, where Voldemort tortured the orphans. Something about the water felt wrong, and Harry's body screamed at him not to touch it.

"What is in the water, sir?" Harry called, his voice bouncing around the cavern and up into the ceiling out of sight.

"Nothing we wish to encounter," Dumbledore spoke from his side, his footsteps crunching on the rocks underfoot.

"I suppose a summoning charm won't work?"

Dumbledore chuckled heartily, "Often times we find simple solutions to the most complex problems. But unfortunately, I doubt we would find ourselves to be so lucky today."

"And whatever he has sitting at the bottom of the lake won't let us swim across," Harry spoke mostly to himself in thought. Despite visibly being the only two people, he knew they were not alone.

"Alternate transport will be needed to cross," Harry turned to see Dumbledore holding something invisible in his outstretched hand. He gave a sharp tug, splashing the water, and a thick chain materialized out of thin air. It moved on its own, snaking along the ground to the exterior wall and attaching itself there. A loud grinding and clanking sound pierced the silence of the cave, as the chain pulled endlessly upon itself, until the tip of a wooden boat poked out of the water. Despite the movement, there was hardly a ripple on the surface.

Dumbledore already stood in the craft when Harry approached. It felt suffocatingly small as they travelled across the water, and Dumbledore seemed to notice Harry's discomfort.

"I believe there is an enchantment in place so only a single individual can cross at a time. In case Voldemort needed to safely check on, or remove his Horcrux." Dumbledore explained, before continuing seeing Harry's confusion, "Voldemort cared only for those who threatened him, as such, the enchantment measures only the presence of adult wizards. The discomfort you feel is likely due to your approaching majority, or the maturity of your magic which is beyond your years."

He was able to breathe easy again once he stepped out of the boat, taking care to avoid touching the water. They had docked on the island at the center of the lake, the stone smooth and clear like a mirror of black glass. It was about the size of the Gryffindor dorm – or perhaps a touch smaller. The ethereal glow was all the more intense here than anywhere else in the lake.

Harry moved alongside the headmaster and approached a jutting pedestal at the center of the rocky outcrop. Swirling in the center like a memory in a pensieve, was a sickly yellow-green liquid, and in its depths was Salazar Slytherin's locket.

Harry moved to poke the liquid with his wand, but hit an invisible barrier instead. Dumbledore followed with his hand, and met a similar result. They stood together for near an hour, as Dumbledore tested the protections of the Horcrux and attempted to puzzle out the obstacle in their way. "It is as I feared then…" Dumbledore dipped the goblet he had conjured earlier back into the luminous fluid, "It must be drunk."

"A potion?" Harry thought that an odd thing to protect a Horcrux.

"I suspect it does not cure the common cold," Dumbledore's voice was dry, a glint of fear in his eyes.

Perhaps a potion was a more effective protection than he initially imagined.

"No! You can't!" Harry shouted, "I'll do it instead."

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, "Even when facing the unknown, your heart remains noble and pure," his lips quivered as he spoke. "My life means little in the face of your own, Harry. I will undoubtedly face horrors beyond imagine once I ingest this elixir, but once I begin I must see it through. Promise me Harry, that if I forget who I am, beg for you to stop, find myself in great pain, or attack you in a fit of madness, you will do what is necessary to see this through to completion.

"Sir, I don't want to hurt you –"

"It is not a matter of hurting me, or whether it is something you want to do or not, my boy – it is what _must_ be done." Dumbledore's words were soft, but beneath it all there was a firmness that halted any further protest.

He lifted the goblet to his lips, and with a frown, downed it in one gulp.

"This certainly will not be helping my already troubled digestion," Dumbledore jested weakly and filled it again before drinking some more.

The second round was visibly much worse than the first. Dumbledore's long, bony fingers gripped the pedestal, just as his knees buckled from underneath him.

"Professor!" Harry shouted in horror, barely moving in time to catch the man before he collapsed.

"Please… please, no…."

Some unknown strength possessed Harry, allowing him to hold Dumbledore up while filling the goblet and lifting it to his mouth.

"Please… stop…" Dumbledore pleaded, but Harry pressed on and coaxed it down his throat.

"Professor Dumbledore, you need to keep going." It was painful to watch the man struggle.

Moving to his own two feet, Dumbledore showed an inner strength Harry could only marvel at, filling another goblet and drinking it down. His body started to convulse, but still he stood on wobbly feet, his chest heaving, and drank once more.

The goblet slipped out of his fingers, and clashed on the stone floor, rolling away from the teetering wizard. "Not her… please…why… why not me?" Tears were leaking out his closed eyes, as he fumbled around like a blind man.

Harry went to fetch the goblet, and returned to see Dumbledore hunched over on his knees. He filled it again, and brought it to Dumbledore's face, only for a stray hand to try and slap it away.

"Professor, you told me we needed to get this done – to do whatever it takes," Harry gripped the man's hands, and fed him some more.

"Please… let me go… I can't… I lost her... I have to help," he stuttered between sips.

He was a monster, doing this to a man he loved with all his heart. To be forcing such terrible pain upon him, it felt like a cold dagger to the heart.

"I'm here professor, it's Harry. I promise it will end soon, just a few more," His voice was broken, tears of his own dripping down the sides of his face, wishing he could stop this torture. Instead, he passed another for Dumbledore to empty.

"Oh, Harry… Harry… I was such a fool… to see her once more, but it cost me... it cost me you... to see the man I've dreamed you to be."

The words struck him deeply and tore at his soul with their meaning, and Harry tried to block them all out. He dismissed them as ramblings, it was the only way he could focus on the repeated cycle of filling and feeding, filling and feeding.

"I've failed Gel, failed you… failed them all… I can't fail again..."

He was flailing again, limbs thrashing wildly, and Harry was forced to pin him to the ground, forcefully opening his mouth to continue the man's torment. Despite knowing the contrary, Harry hated himself for what he was doing to the headmaster.

"Just drink, sir, drink, and it will be over. There's just a few more now, drink," his hands shook as he spoke.

"I can save him Abe… I can... I couldn't before, but there's a way – I won't fail…"

Dumbledore drank greedily now, almost as if he was relishing in his pain, forcing more of the vile potion down into his body.

"I can't fail… I can't, I can't, not again…"

A shallow pool was all that remained of the potion, the chain of the locket nearly breaching the surface.

"This is the last one, Professor, I promise. Open up, this is it and it's all over." Harry's eyes were blurred with emotion, as he fed the defeated headmaster one last time; before the man turned over silently, looking nothing more than a corpse, eyes staring unblinkingly to the darkness above.

He wanted to run over to him and check on his condition immediately, but remembered what he promised.

In a panic, he sprinted to the pedestal, and dug his hand in to retrieve the locket. He pushed it into his mokeskin pouch for safe keeping.

"Water..." he heard a deep rattling breath, just before the sound of a splash from the lake.

Harry froze, his blood running cold. He turned to see Dumbledore feebly cupping water into his mouth at the edge of the island.

"No!" he screamed, slashing his wand just in time to sever the ghastly hand that reached for the headmaster's face. "Professor, get back!"

He wasn't given the opportunity to check if Dumbledore had heeded his warning; his attention needed elsewhere, as an army of slimy humanoid creatures came rising from the depths of the mirrored lake. Men, women, and children, naked and rotted, came crawling over top of one another like a horde of insects. Their bodies were skeletal, their flesh milky white and little more than pulp stretched across bone. He blasted a few back, only for them to get back up again, strong and sightless and unfeeling.

They were Inferi - necromantic creations.

He needed fire.

A jet of blood-red flame came shooting out of the end of his holly wand - which sung with warmth in his hand - the same cursed flame he used against the Acromantula. Sweat poured out of his pores at the proximity of the hellish heat, mixing with the trails of his tears like tributaries to a river, and evaporating almost instantaneously leaving behind the stinging of salt on his cheek. The dark magic imbedded in the cursed scars of the burns on his face flared to life with unholy agony at the use of their maker. Steam surrounded them, obscuring the undead creatures, only the screeches of their destruction gave any indication to their location.

They came in never-ending waves, where one would fall only to be replaced by five more. It seemed only a matter of time before they were overrun. Harry's fire didn't appear to be enough, as they kept barreling through only to light up like kindling and collapse in a charred heap mere feet later. A tugging near his foot caught Harry's attention, as the inferius of a half-incinerated infant bit into the flesh of his ankle, tearing out a chunk. Harry crushed its head with a hard stomp, the adrenaline pumping through his body protecting him from feeling the worst of it.

An unexpected stream of fire came bursting through his protective wall of crimson and gold, scorching his side with searing pain. Before he could process what had just happened, another gust came wildly flying, forcing Harry to duck before it took off half his face.

There was a lull in the attack of the Inferi, or perhaps the fire had erupted to a heat they found impassable. Whatever it was, Harry was grateful, as it gave him the opportunity take care of the new problem he was facing.

Staggering like a drunkard, Dumbledore swung is wand in great wide arcs, spewing flames hotter than Harry had ever felt before. It was effective in clearing most of the island of Inferi, but dangerous in that he could burn them both alive at any moment.

Directing a torrent of flame away with a controlled gust of wind, Harry tackled the headmaster to the ground. Dumbledore was yelling and cursing in delusion, his eyes closed, and strength much greater than Harry had expected. Weak spurts of flames were shooting all around them in their struggle, like a faulty display of pyrotechnics, one flaring tongue just licking the unburnt side of his face.

In a contest of strength, Harry was certain Dumbledore would win. But the potion had weakened him just enough, to the point Harry could wrench the wand out of his hand. He wasn't sure which wand he was using at this point – perhaps both – the situation having fallen into complete chaos.

Fire danced around them, circling the Inferi and scorching everything in its path. Burnt flesh filled the air with its putrid scent, making it difficult to breathe, yet somehow he managed to pull Dumbledore over to the miraculously intact boat. With a flick of his wand, the ring of fire followed the vessel, protecting them from the horde of Inferi following underwater.

The short respite appeared to restore some strength to Dumbledore, who just managed to climb out of the boat of his own volition once they reached the shore, and followed Harry as they rushed out of the cave, sealing it behind them

"Rest…" Dumbledore breathed weakly, leaning most of his weight on Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, you'll get some rest, sir, I promise. Hold still a moment, and I'll have us back," Dumbledore complied to Harry's order with a pained grunt.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh sea air, Harry cleared the contamination of dark magic and roasted monsters that tainted his lungs, before taking them away back to Hogwarts.

They appeared in Dumbledore's office with a crash, Harry's apparation lacking any sort of grace. Immediately he moved to take the headmaster up to his chambers.

"Wait…" his voice came out as a wheeze, "my desk…" he pointed with his gloved hand. But beneath the ruined leather, much of it having been burned away in the fire, lay a withered black husk of a hand.

Harry stopped and stared, forgetting what Dumbledore wanted.

What? When? How had this happened? The questions came flying through his mind, and none of the possible implications were in any way pleasant.

"My desk…" Dumbledore replied, "there's a box… take it."

On the corner of his desk, sat a red oaken box he had seen once before. "Why?" Harry asked as he placed it in his pocket.

"Later," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes drooping and looking dangerously sleepy.

Harry decided against taking him up to his room, instead laying him gently on a sofa near one of his bookshelves. Fawkes flew over and crooned musically as he perched near his master's head, nuzzling his cheek with his beak.

"You did well, Harry… so proud… to have seen you grow means the world to me."

"I'll be right back, sir, I'm just going to get Madam Pomfrey to come check on you," Harry tried to keep his tone even, despite the fear growing inside with the way Dumbledore was speaking.

He moved to leave, but Dumbledore's dead hand held tight to his wrist, "Your mother and father would be so proud… just as I am," his blue eyes twinkled as he spoke, but dimmer than their usual brightness.

Harry didn't know what to say, his voice choked with emotion. He needed to get to Pomfrey, she would be able to help him. The school was silent and near empty as he rushed down the hallways in the direction of the Hospital Wing. He pulled out the Marauder's Map to see if the matron was still awake. Scanning the map, he stopped suddenly, his eyes drawn to something before he even glimpsed the mediwitch's office. He changed course immediately, sprinting towards the Room of Requirement, hoping he would get there before it was too late.

 _Skull and serpent_.

Something terrible was descending on Hogwarts.

 **AN:**

 **As some of you can likely tell, this is the final chapter before shit hits the fan. Next chapter will be huge (likely both in size and in content), and will be the last of the first arc. It will be the one that explains some of people's most burning questions, and will be the site of the massive leap in divergence that kicks off the second arc.**

 **That being said, there were a lot of reveals in this chapter, a lot of emotion, and a lot of funky prophetic stuff.** **There's just a taste of action in this one, sort of like an appetizer to the feast that is the next chapter.**

 **Once again, your reviews are the best and I appreciate them so much. Feel free to leave some more on your thoughts for this chapter, and the stuff that went down. If you picked up on anything, have something to say in general, or have any constructive criticism, I'm open to that as well. Also, if you have any predictions for what will happen next chapter and where you think the story might be going, I'd be really interested to hear those as well!**


	18. Chapter 18

No. _No, no, no._

The thought ran continuously through his mind, looping around itself in a flowing stream of denial. He didn't want to believe it. There was nothing he wanted more than to go to Gryffindor Tower and collapse in his bed – but he knew what he saw, and he had to get there before it was too late.

His ankle throbbed with every step of his sprint, the hot blood from the wound of the Inferius, slicked down his foot and was beginning to stick between his toes. He could feel the rotting of his skin without even looking, as the effects of the necrotic magic started to take hold. It was only the desperation and the adrenaline pumping through his body that kept him moving, otherwise he would have collapsed from the excruciating pain of his ankle and scorched side long ago.

The galleon fisted tightly in his hand burned, but he didn't have time to check it, before slipping it back into the pouch around his neck. He could only hope they received his message, and that Hermione had the foresight to link the new ones to his own. They needed to know what was going on – to get to safety and clear as many students from the halls.

He slipped through a tapestry depicting the rebirth of a phoenix and onto the seventh floor, slowing his pace to a cautious approach, and cloaking himself in invisibility. There was something wrong with the castle – he could feel it. The fortress that was so often touted as being the safest place in all of Britain was gone, leaving behind something weak and vulnerable.

"We must leave him, our time is short and we cannot fail."

"There aren't enough of –"

"There are more than enough of us to do our Lord's bidding! You consider yourself one of his faithful, yet you balk in the face of schoolchildren."

The voice sent chills down Harry's spine. He froze, his body refusing to move any closer. He could feel his mind begin to fall away to a memory of haunting grey eyes and a dark curtain fluttering in still air.

"You know it is not schoolchildren that I fear."

" _Dumbledore_." The name was used like a curse. "You fear an old man?"

"I have heard the stories of what happened at the Ministry. Of how he imprisoned Antonin, Augustus, and Lucius on his own, as well as your own husband; and how he fought off our Lord."

"I should kill you for how you speak! Dumbledore was no match for our Lord, and was only saved by the arrival of the Minister and his guard."

Rage filled Harry's stomach. She was lying. He'd seen the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort, the might of their full powers on display in a show of magic both great and terrible. They'd duelled to a standstill, neither giving the other an inch. Voldemort looked to kill, and Dumbledore matched him spell for spell, baiting his former student to unveil himself to the world. It infuriated him to hear such falsehood.

"We'd have had more than enough, had _he_ not been as incompetent as his father," another voice spoke, deep and rasping.

"Don't speak about my father! I did what he – our Lord, asked of me," a voice Harry knew all too well trembled. He thought Draco had been confined to the Hospital Wing? It was only earlier that day that he'd almost killed him. Where was Snape? His mind was filled with so many questions, and very few answers.

"Did you, now? Then why is it, that Avery is stuck in the void, because the bloody fucking Vanishing Cabinet you were supposed to fix broke!" The unknown man was clearly shouting, but his voice sounded more like two grating pieces of metal.

"I told you it wasn't completely fixed! I needed more time… but Potter found out and I couldn't let him ruin it all."

"So that's why we're doing this now, months ahead of schedule? Because Potter got one over on you again. Gods, you Malfoys are pathetic."

"The enchantments? Does he know about the enchantments?" _Her_ voice sounded almost panicked. "Tell me Draco, does he know?"

"I don't know… I can't – I don't know okay!" Whatever was going on, Malfoy was certainly terrified. "Everyone knows something is going on at school, what with the portraits and stairs failing, but they don't know what it is. I kept it all hidden." It sounded almost as if Malfoy was reassuring himself more than anything else.

"Except for Parkinson right?" The rasping man pointed out cruelly, and Harry heard a choked gasp that belonged to Malfoy. "Your dead little girlfriend… and Potter now, isn't that right? Doesn't sound like you kept it hidden at all."

"Does Potter know!?" She spoke out again, and Harry could hear the ruffling of clothing and the smack of flesh against a wall.

Harry crept closer around the corner, his wand gripped in hand, and making sure to keep his cloak secured tightly around him.

"I think… I think he might have glimpsed it," Malfoy whispered, his voice barely carrying over the air.

"Glimpsed?"

"Potter... he knows Legilimency."

Someone laughed in disbelief, but then there was a pause of silence.

"Did I not teach you? I told you to be warry at all times! Our Lord's plans are too precious to be passed on to his enemies."

"I was, I swear! Dumbledore and Snape weren't able to find anything."

"Yet Potter was able to," her voice was deadly, and filled with disappointment. "You've surprised many of us Draco with what you have managed to accomplish… but you still failed. Our Lord does not take kindly to failure as you will learn, and for your and my sister's sake, your shortcomings best not ruin our Lord's plans."

"You should be grateful Malfoy, Greyback used to be a favorite toy of his to use on those who failed him. I do hope he finds a suitable replacement," the rasping man spoke again.

"How much longer?" Harry could hear a voice further in the distance call.

"It's only a matter of time. We must remain undetected."

"I think it's a bit too late for that, Bellatrix."

It took Harry a moment to realize that it had been him who had spoken, standing with his wand drawn and cloak folded away in his pocket. He wasn't sure what it was, but something inside of him knew that he had made the right decision. Much of the fear he had been feeling faded to nothing but an inner tranquility.

The calm before the storm, perhaps.

A smile quirked at the edge of his burnt lip at seeing their shocked faces. There were six of them, all clad in black, standing in front of the Room of Requirement; and between them all was Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin could hardly stand of his own volition, looking as if he would snap like a dry twig with the slightest bit of pressure - heavily favouring one side of his body. It appeared as though he hadn't recovered as well as Harry had initially thought, which brought him some satisfaction.

His gaze didn't rest on his classmate for long, as they were quickly drawn to a pair of eyes, wide and dark and filled with sadistic glee. Bellatrix Lestrange was a witch as wicked in looks as she was in nature, something about her that still caught Harry off guard. She looked healthier since the last time he saw her, her flesh less stretched and with healthier color, and that only made him hate her more. To see such evil, thrive after killing his godfather.

"Little baby Potter, you've grown up quite a bit since I've last seen you – not so much the scared boy running after nightmares," she called back, not having reached for her wand, unlike the rest of the Death Eaters.

"You're right, I've changed – but I still chase after nightmares, otherwise I wouldn't be standing right here, right now."

Bellatrix cackled. "Maybe you do have some your father and my cousin in you after all… not like it did them any good. All fall down before our Lord in the end."

"And the only person he's ever fallen to before is me. Funny how that works."

He could see the hate in Bellatrix's gaze, her face twitching, and betraying her deep want to strike him down. But still she managed to keep her control.

The same did not apply to the rest.

"Kill the arrogant little shit!" A stocky, masked Death Eater called out, reaching for his wand.

But before he could even pull it out, another wand was stuck sharply up against his throat.

"Control yourself Carrow, or your sister will be a lonely woman at night. He is for our Lord... we have our own orders," it was the man with the scratching voice who spoke. He was unmasked, like Bellatrix, and had twisting grey hair and a pockmarked face. "If you wish to kill anyone, kill the betraying fool who led Potter to us."

"I didn't betray anyone; I was faithful – I swear!"

"Silence Draco!" Bellatrix snapped at her nephew. "The boy did not betray us, Travers, it was simply Potter. He has a knack for stumbling into places he shouldn't be."

Harry tensed for a moment, as he saw Bellatrix slip her hand into the pocket of her robes. Instead of a wand, he saw her pull out what looked to be a black crystal.

"It is a glorious day to finally see you die," she said, just as she threw the crystal to the ground. It shattered soundlessly, and a puff of thick, black, smoke filled the air between Harry and the Death Eaters. The red beam of a stunning spell came flying his way through the darkness, forcing Harry to shield himself after nearly being caught off guard. He fired his own in return, and four others came his way in response, smacking harmlessly into the stone walls of the castle and the floor in front of him.

He could hear their running footsteps as they echoed down the corridor, but saw nothing but a dark screen. It wasn't smoke, he realized suddenly, but powder. Everywhere around him was choked with fine inky black granules, that sat heavily in the air and swallowed all light that threatened to pass through.

It was familiar to him – only time would dispel Peruvian Darkness Powder, but there was a spell that could see through it. One the twins had confided in him long ago.

" _Post Tenebras Lux."_

Immediately upon casting, sight returned to him. He could still feel the particles hovering about him and shrouding him in its magic; but the hallway stood untouched, as if the powder simply seized to exist.

He moved to follow in the direction he figured they travelled. He needed to stop them before it was too late, and before they finished whatever it was Voldemort sent them to do.

Death Eaters were in the castle. He'd only just seen them, fought with them even, and still it was hard to believe the truth. Agents of the Dark Lord, merciless killers, were roaming the halls, all because Draco Malfoy. He mentioned something about a Vanishing Cabinet; was that how he snuck them in? Was this the mission Voldemort had given him? There had to be more to it than that, Harry was certain of it, Bellatrix had mentioned something about enchantments.

There was still too much he didn't know about what was going on. He needed to catch up with the Death Eaters; and when he did, he would get his answers and kill Draco for what he'd done. He nearly had done so before, and now he was certain he could finish the job.

There was a sharp burning on his throat through the mokeskin pouch, and Harry quickly pulled out his galleon.

 _We're coming to help. H.G._

"No!" Harry shouted aloud in panic. "No! What are you doing?" There was nobody there to hear him, but it did not stop him from cursing out his frustrations.

They didn't know what they were up against – it was too dangerous; they'd be slaughtered without a second thought. Panic started to well up within him. He couldn't let this happen to his friends. They were loving, and strong, and brave... but foolish above all if they thought they would win this fight.

Harry knew the castle better than anyone, other than perhaps Dumbledore, and after years of sneaking around after hours with the help of the Marauders Map it had become almost second nature to him. But whatever advantage this gave him, it was negated by the layout of the seventh floor. It was a maze. One filled with crisscrossing hallways that fed into another and doubled back just as often as they moved forward. It was once beneficial to helping the D.A. members slip by Umbridge's notice, but now it was a hindrance. The Death Eaters could have gone in any which direction, and he didn't have the time to waste to stop and scour the map.

It was only the sound of spellfire that guided him in a definitive direction. Whatever fight had broken out was finished by the time he arrived. He could see a few portraits knocked off the wall as a result of the skirmish, and a figure sprawled across the floor underneath an upended tapestry.

"Katie!" He shouted, recognizing the Gryffindor girl leaning heavily across the wall, a shallow cut swelling over her eye.

"Harry! Thank goodness, we were so worried that –"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I can handle myself. What happened here?" He looked over her shoulder, and saw Demelza continually walking into the same wall over and over again.

"Hermione told us to go warn the Headmaster, and when we came up here we ran into a couple of Death Eaters. We tried to hold them off, but couldn't – I don't know why, but they just ran past us."

"They're not here for the students," he explained.

"Oh…" Katie looked confused. "I don't know what's wrong with Demelza," she sounded afraid looking at her friend.

"She's only Confunded." Harry quickly dispelled the hex, and Demelza snapped back to her senses. "Who's that?" Harry pointed to the body that remained worryingly still.

"She overheard us talking about what was going on. We didn't want her to come – we swear – but she wouldn't take no for an answer. I don't know what spell hit her."

He bent over and lifted the corner of the tapestry, and found himself looking into the youthful face of Romilda Vane. Her body was void of color and her breaths were shallow. Harry figured she was under some sort of asphyxiation curse. "You need to get her to Pomfrey as soon as possible," he called out to the two girls. He didn't particularly like Romilda, especially after she drugged him, but she didn't deserve this – not after coming out to fight when she did not have to.

"Which way did they go?" Harry asked, just as Katie and Demelza levitated the fallen girl.

"I think they went in the direction of the Astronomy Tower," Katie called back over her shoulder.

Something didn't feel right. It had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while now, but still he couldn't place the cause of it. What did the Death Eaters want by coming here? Surely, there was no way they could take the castle by brute force with only a handful of people. Yet Voldemort had chosen to send Bellatrix, one of his most valuable Death Eaters, on this mission.

He could hear the sound of running footsteps approaching from around the corner, and stilled. His wand was loose in his hand, ready to snap off a stunning spell, but never did as it wasn't a Death Eater.

He moved to catch the sprinting figure, who's eyes were tear-filled and oblivious to the world around them in their fright. "Susan," he grunted, the momentum of her body knocking out some of his breath. "Susan!" He repeated louder than before, shaking her shoulders to capture her attention.

"H-Harry…?" She looked up at him with a broken gaze, her small hands were fisted tightly into his tattered cloak. The material moved roughly across his wounded side, but he ignored the pain and focused his attention on the distraught girl in his arms. "Harry, they have Justin."

Harry's stomach dropped. Justin was a muggleborn, he could only imagine what they planned to do to him.

"How?"

"The Death Eaters set off the Dark Mark from the Astronomy Tower, and we went to stop them," her voice trembled in the space between them.

 _Foolish, foolish, foolish_.

It sounded even worse coming from their own mouths. Did they not think of the possible consequences of their actions?

There was no time to dwell on that now. He needed to catch up with the Death Eaters, as they could be anywhere in the castle by now.

"Come on," he grabbed Susan by the hand, and dragged her back in the direction she had come from.

With mounting horror as they ran down the shadowy corridors, Harry smelt blood in the air. Its coppery stench grew stronger with each step, bile filling the back of his throat, with its abhorrent assault on his senses. He could hear Susan gagging by his side.

Moonlight streamed through the high-arched windows, and pooled along the floor. Its touch came down from the sky and reflected brightly off a puddle found at the base of the tower. It took only a moment for Harry to identify what the substance truly was.

"Don't look," he whispered into Susan's ear, pulling her tightly into his shoulder, " _please_ … just don't look."

It was too much for her. Justin was her friend.

He could feel the tears leaking through the material of his robe, her body shaking with crushing sobs.

"Harry… is he?"

"There's nothing that can be done." He dragged her on, despite her stumbling steps.

As horrifying as it was to see, Harry couldn't tear his eyes away. He'd seen too many of his schoolmates die, it all felt numb to him. Justin lay twitching in a pool of his own blood, near death, but not near enough to avoid the agony he was experiencing in his final moments. His throat was slashed, and his veins were turning a sickly green color – it was not a pretty way to go.

"I hate them, Harry." Despite her quivering frame, Harry could hear the steel behind her voice. "I hate them so much."

He never had the chance to answer, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alarm, and he threw the both of them to the ground just as a yellow spell shot overhead. Susan gasped in pain from his side, but he didn't have the time to check on her condition. His elbow split, and his knees screamed in pain, but he managed to roll up and cast a shield just as two more spells splashed against it.

He stood and faced down two Death Eaters, who'd both unmasked themselves at this point. Together they were mirror images of the other, pudgy and short, and ugly for both a man and a woman. The folds of their cloaks were stained with blood, and it wasn't difficult to tell who it once belonged to.

"Blood-Traitor!" the male spat at Susan who was spread out on the floor. "Just like your Aunt and your parents… do you Bones never learn?"

"Leave the girl, Amycus, we have Potter within our grasp. Our Lord will rejoice when we bring him his head."

The two smiled cruelly at one another, something unspoken passing between the twins, as they pulled their wands out in unison.

"Come then," Harry smiled, his blood running hot with anticipation of duelling Death Eaters; and at once their battle begun.

Spells were lashed in a violent exchange. The twins worked in perfect synchronization, twisting and dipping, casting and shielding, in a manner that reminded Harry of the innate understanding shared between Fred and George on the Quidditch pitch. They formed an impenetrable wall that Harry was hard pressed to find an opening to exploit. What they lacked in ability, they made up in understanding of each other's weaknesses.

Countering a necrotic curse sent at his legs, Harry's face burned with familiarity at the fire that spouted out the end of his wand. The phoenix feather warmed in his hand, as if pleased with the use of its element.

Neither were expecting his understanding of the dark arts, and it gave him the opening he was looking for. A severing curse was only partially deflected and caught Alecto in the arm, forcing her wand from her hand. Distracted by his sister's injury, Harry's Langlock spell found its mark and muted his next curse, causing it to fizzle out harmlessly.

" _Petrificus Totalus."_

The body-binding spell came flying from his side, catching Amycus in the thigh. Frozen in place, he never had a chance to dodge the next curse sent his way.

" _Sectumsempra."_

The blade-like nature of the magic tore right through the flesh of his stomach, spurting blood into the air like a broken fountain.

"Amycus!" A toe-curling scream echoed across the walls. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

Harry had forgotten about Alecto. The haunting green spell came barrelling towards him, and there was nothing he could do but stare as the void of death approached. He blinked, and in that ripple of time, he found himself back in his crib in Godric's Hallow - vulnerable and powerless to the evil of the world.

 _Not Harry! Please… Not Harry! Not Harry!_

He saw her fall down dead before him, just as she did in his nightmares, and felt at peace knowing he would soon join her.

He blinked.

He wasn't dead. He could still here the wailing of Alecto over her brother's body.

He wasn't dead. How? He wished he hadn't asked the question.

Red hair splayed out in a mockery of the past, Susan Bones lay dead at his feet. Blue eyes – not green – stared endlessly up at his own, but the affect was not lost on him.

She'd died for him. To protect him. To keep him alive at the cost of her own life. She'd done what he should have done for her.

She'd tried to run away earlier – past the Astronomy Tower and from her friend Justin, and he was the one who dragged her back to her death. It was his fault.

He didn't know how long he stared at her lifeless body, unaware and lost to his surroundings. Had she really valued his own life over her own? He vowed to never forget her.

"Amycus… _Amycus please_ …" Harry flinched at hearing her words. How dare she speak. How dare she plead for life after taking an innocent one for her own. Harry saw red, his blood pumping through his brain with such force it clouded his vision with nothing but a brutal haze.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point he started kicking Alecto, and he found that he couldn't stop. Bones crunched under foot, and he could hear the crack of her ribs as she howled out in pain. Her face was a wreck of bloodied fat flesh, and crimson dripped down out her mouth, bubbling over her lips with her chokes.

He hoped she would choke on her own dirty blood, the same she found so easy to spill.

Except she wasn't choking. The rhythm was wrong – there was no desperation, it was too controlled, too _happy_. She was laughing.

"Oh, Po- Potter…" she spat out a congealed mess. "We… we- were wrong about you," her laugh was more of tortured hack, "the Dark Lord w-w-will take pleasure in killing you."

"Why are you here?"

"There's so much you don't know…" she was giggling now, a sudden madness taking over her, "our Lord guards his secrets well. There is no hope for your muggle loving–"

Harry pressed down on her shattered elbow, cutting off her taunt with an agonizing growl. "Tell me!"

"You- you'll h-ha-have to d-do more than that Potter."

He'd never felt such hate before.

"I said tell me! _Crucio_!"

The power of the Unforgiveable coursed through his arm – it was untamed and entirely cursed magic. He watched in pleasure as she was lifted from the ground, writhing in unnatural agony, screeching and thrashing, and then with a resounding _smack_ , Alecto crashed into the wall and crumpled to the ground.

Harry panted heavily, his nerves shot, and lightheaded from his rage.

"What did Voldemort plan?" He stocked towards her limp form with murderous intent.

"You've l-l-lost Potter… it's over. Malfoy… ha-has been breaking down the school's enchantments f-for months. Dumbledore's castle has fallen."

"How?" His wand twitched in his hand, and Alecto eyed it warily.

"It's… over," she repeated with an ugly sneer, "Basilisk venom… from our Lord's own stores… breaks the anchor. The gates will open – Bellatrix's task – Hogwarts is ours."

He left without another word, her demented cackling echoing behind in his wake.

 _Hogwarts is ours. Dumbledore's castle has fallen._

Her words ran through his mind, unnerving him with their meaning. He needed to get down to the gates – to stop Bellatrix before it was too late. How had Draco managed to destroy the castle's protections without anyone noticing? It was obvious looking back at it now – the odd happenings around the castle during the year. It all pieced together into a clear picture in hindsight. They'd been played for fools: Dumbledore, himself, and the entirety of the Hogwarts staff; the plan had unfolded right under their noses.

Now Justin was dead, Susan sacrificed herself, and he was clueless to what was going on with the rest of the castle.

 _You must not stop. You must fight on, and do what needs to be done._

Dumbledore's words came to mind. He needed to keep moving, he couldn't let their deaths be for nothing, he needed to make things right.

Sites of small skirmishes were littered among the halls. Dust and rubble and burning tapestries were saturated with dark and foreign magic. A passage that twisted down to the second floor had caved in on itself, forcing Harry to the central staircases of Hogwarts.

It was a slow going process, the ride much more jerky than smooth. He could hear the sound of distant fighting reverberating around the cavernous stairway. But more distinctly, he heard two voices not far off from his own. Peering over the edge, he spotted a dark clad figure and a familiar head of slicked blond hair riding a handful of staircases below him.

"Malfoy!" He roared, immediately catching their attention. It was difficult to see from such a height, but he swore Draco stumbled upon the sight of him.

Without a second thought, he casted a blasting curse down on them. The Death Eater deflected it with ease into a landing several floors below.

He fired in retaliation, the spell rocketing up in Harry's direction, but the angle was too tight and collided with the base of the staircase he was riding. It felt as if the ground erupted beneath him, masonry flying and showering down upon him. The staircase bucked and lurched in every which direction, forcing Harry to grip the railing with all his strength. Before he could so much as peek over the edge, another spell smashed beneath his feet, almost throwing Harry off into a deadly fall.

He could feel himself spinning in space like a top, the enchantments failing with each passing collision. A large crack emerged beneath his feet, and he watched with horror as the stairs began to crumble along their edge. He shielded just in time, as another powerful blasting curse was sent his way.

Looking down beneath him, Harry contemplated all of the insane ideas he'd had over the years. There quite a few, many of which he questioned to this day how he had survived – but this one might just have topped them all.

Before his sanity or better judgement returned to him, he abandoned ship.

Air whipped past his face as he fell, his stomach jumping into the base of his throat. He could only enjoy the feeling of weightlessness for half a heartbeat, before the sight of the rapidly approaching stonework snapped him into action.

" _Arresto Momentum."_

He'd never attempted the spell before, and if it was ever going to work, now was the moment. There was no room for error – it was do or die.

Panic flooded his system, his descent not stalling in the slightest. It was only feet before impact, that he felt his magic take hold of him, fighting against gravity, and slowing the velocity of his free-fall.

He landed on the edge of a step with a violent _crunch_ , his shoulder jolting forcefully into its socket and everything below his elbow abruptly went numb. He was too dazed to move, lights and shadows dancing before his half-lidded eyes. By some miracle, his glasses remained upon his face.

"The boys mad, there's no way he survived the fall." A voice flitted across his consciousness.

"You don't know Potter like I do – he survived that. He just doesn't die."

"He just fell over fifty bloody feet! At best he's a cripple."

Slowly he picked himself up, his right arm straining with his full weight, as his left hung useless at his side.

"Didn't you hear the spell?"

"I heard it. He never slowed. It failed."

The two staircases were parallel to one another, starting their descent to the final third of the castle. Both were erratic and shaky in their movements, keeping their passengers on edge. Seizing the element of surprise he held over his adversaries, Harry turned his wand in a wide arc and yanked scores of portraits from their placements on the walls and directed them at Malfoy and his accomplice.

Curses of both pain and surprise could be heard over the cacophony of clattering frames and shouts of, "I told you so! I told you!"

The distraction bought him just enough time to catch his breath and conjure a flock of birds that added to the mass of confusion down below. He could only just make out Draco's form, seeking cover behind the railing. An explosion of wind burst from below, buffeting everything in its path, and clearing the debris Harry set upon them. A sudden shift in the staircase knocked Harry off balance, and just out of the way of a flying portrait. The three-eyed man within the frame was screaming with unimaginable fright, as his vessel nearly took off Harry's head.

Spells were exchanged with reckless abandon; burning, and fizzing, and blasting their way in every direction other than their intended target. Any chance of accuracy was hopeless with the chaotic motion of the ever-changing staircases, throwing off any semblance of balance and aim. It was only by chance that the stray end of Harry's _Incarcerous_ tripped the Death Eater at his ankles, and forced him to stumble down into the trick step. The unexpected drop threw his next spell wildly overhead.

There was a grinding _crunch_ that tore through the open air, a sound that made Harry's heart stop. The world was shaking around them, as if hailing the apocalypse to come from the heavens.

Looking up, that was exactly what Harry found.

Slabs of stone of cataclysmic proportions were raining down from above. The staircase he had abandoned only moments earlier was tumbling to earth - a growing shadow shrouded all those beneath its immensity. The sky was falling, and it heralded nothing but death.

Scrambling to his feet in a frenzy, Harry rushed to the edge of the staircase, as the air above him built in pressure. Glancing down he saw the Death Eater struggling to free his leg from the trick step, and he leapt, just as the scream of death was smothered by the sound of collapsing stone.

Malfoy wasn't hard to find, laying only feet away from him in a quivering heap. Miraculously they'd both landed safely on the second floor landing.

" _Please… please…_ "

"You don't get to beg, Malfoy," Harry said, approaching the broken boy before him. "After everything you've done, the people you've killed."

"I didn't want… it was all a mistake… only –"

"Dumbledore was meant to die, I know," Harry cut him off, "and a right mess you've made of all of that. I've lost two more friends tonight because of you."

Crystal tears were streaming from his grey eyes, mixing with the blood and grime on his face. "I didn't want to kill them!" His voice cracked with emotion. "I had to – I had no choice."

"There's always a choice Malfoy," Harry shook his head, remembering what Dumbledore had once told him. "You have the choice to do what is right or what is easy, and it's that decision that defines who you are."

He didn't know why he was giving life advice to the boy he was about to kill.

"My mother… _he_ was going to kill her as punishment for my father's failures, unless I succeeded."

"Your mother sent me a letter," Harry spoke up, surprising Malfoy. "My mother died for me. Don't you think your mother would do the same, if it meant saving your soul? She told me to save you. She said I was the only person who could."

"Then do it. _Kill me._ "

"What?" Harry looked at him in shock.

"Kill me, please…" Malfoy pleaded, "I know you want to do it. So please, just kill me already. Just let it be over."

Harry stood there dumbfounded. He'd come after him for this very reason. But being confronted with it – having Malfoy ask him of it – made it all that much more difficult to do.

" _Please._ "

Harry looked down at the boy he'd feuded with ever since he first denied him a handshake almost seven years ago. He'd denied him then, but he could do him a kindness now.

His wand was a weight in his hand.

" _Avada Ked-"_

"Potter!"

The syllables were only just out of his mouth, when he was stopped short.

"No! _No!_ " Malfoy yelled, grabbing hold of Harry's arm, as if he could force the spell out of his wand.

"Mister Potter what are you doing?" Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall approaching, with Flitwick and Snape falling along beside her.

His heart skipped, fearful that they knew what he was just about to do. He could see the tension in their bodies, the sweat glistening on their skin, and their confusion as to why Malfoy was on the floor gripping his wrist. They didn't know.

"No doubt finishing what he didn't before."

It seemed Snape did. His near-black eyes bore into his own like endless pits. There was no need for legilimency for him to know what had almost come to pass.

"Perhaps we wouldn't have Death Eaters running around the castle if I had." He refused to back down from the man.

"Trying to reason murder? I suppose Black had to teach you something when he was still alive."

"I don't need lessons in morality from a Death Eater, _Snivellus_."

The man bristled at the name, cracking his composure and exposing much of the hatred hidden beneath.

"Enough!" McGonagall snapped. "We must keep moving and gather the remaining students. We shall deal with Mr. Malfoy once the situation is under control."

Snape hauled Malfoy to his feet, and forced him to follow as they traversed the halls. Harry did not fail to notice how Snape kept Malfoy on the outside, shielding him from the rest of them.

"Potter, where is the headmaster?" There was a certain eagerness and desperation lurking in the depths of Snape's eyes when he spoke.

For whatever reason, Harry didn't feel comfortable telling the man where Dumbledore was, or what condition he'd left him in. "I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"Do not lie to me," the man snapped with the sharpness of a whip. "The headmaster, where is he?" Snape's breath was stale, and his hooked nose was so close that it almost touched his own. For a heartbeat, Harry thought the man was about to throttle him.

"Mr. Potter, if you know the whereabouts of Professor Dumbledore, we must know now. We are in dire need of his assistance, and any information is too critical to be withheld."

Before he was even given the chance to come up with a lie, they'd turned a corner and found themselves face to face with a pair of Death Eaters.

"Ah, Severus… your timing is impeccable as always – and with Potter and Malfoy no less. _Bravo_."

"Travers." Snape's greeting was frigid at best. "What are you doing here."

"Often times, I find myself agreeing with Bellatrix on a matter of topics. Though, her unreasonable distrust of you was one thing I could never understand…" Travers' voice sounded like nails being pulled across a chalkboard. "But seeing you here – right now – beside Potter and your colleagues, I can almost reason her with madness. You walk a thin line, Severus, and I question who's side you are really on."

They all stood there, frozen, in a standoff no one dared to break. All eyes were on Snape and Travers, whose stares locked and were vying for dominance. His face was a pallid mask, one that betrayed nothing but cool indifference. It was the face of a dead man, but one who was cursed to still walk amongst the living.

"Draco…" It was Snape's words that broke the uneasy air, "move."

He pushed the blond student forward towards the Death Eaters, and faster than Harry's eyes could track, his wand slashed and exploded like a canon, sending Professor Flitwick flying into the wall with a horrid _crack_.

"Coward. _Coward_!" McGonagall screamed, a crimson bolt was directed at the spy's neck.

Snape's features were contorted into hatred and revulsion, but his eyes were dead. The spell was shielded with a deft flick of his wand.

"A faithful dog to the end, aren't you Severus?" Travers laughed, and sent a shadowy scythe in the direction of the fallen Professor Flitwick.

McGonagall summoned the shield of a knight from the wall, which only just blocked the lethal spell, as it was cleaved nearly clean in half. Almost as quickly as it was destroyed, the two halves of the shield were spinning blades directed at Snape and Travers.

In the moment he had, Harry unfurled a tapestry from the wall and spelled it to zip at the third Death Eater. Unable to react in time, the woven piece of art wrapped itself around his adversary and slowly began to constrict around him. He could just hear his muffled shouts through the raging battle at his side.

McGonagall in a feat of brilliance was holding off both Snape and Travers, with a mastery of Transfiguration that would make Dumbledore blush with pride. He saw a giant serpent blow into a puff of smoke that seconds later reformed into a hail of iron spiked balls, only to be caught in a giant net that vanished into thin air. A suit of armour was bent and twisted into ribbons of sheet metal, that reached out and chained the two men together. In their struggle to free themselves, a torch was knocked to the floor.

Tapping into the nature of the flame, Harry's spell burst to life with a blinding flash, forcing them all off balance. The blaze expanded into a loop of flame that flew at Snape like a burning lasso. But before it struck, he managed to divert the spell away from his person.

One tendril of flame nearly licked Travers, scorching the ends of his long hair. The other Death Eater, who was only just escaping the charmed tapestry, was not so fortunate. A stray band of the enchanted flame ripped its way through his silver mask; a horrifying sizzle accompanied the man's screech of pain, as his hands immediately went to cover his face.

"Enough!" Travers shouted, ensuring his voice would carry over his accomplice's wails. "Snape, we are needed elsewhere." He growled in pain, gripping his left arm, and unleashed a thunderous spell at the carved beams above them all. Quick thinking on McGonagall's part had Professor Flitwick dragged to safety just as the ceiling caved, setting a mountain of debris between the opposing parties.

"Hurry, Potter," her voice was distressed, "we must get Filius to help." She levitated the diminutive wizard, a trickle of blood coming down behind his ear.

She had them moving again before Harry even had a chance to breathe. With the staircase destroyed and their current path blocked, it came down to Harry to find a passageway that would lead them out.

"Where are we going?"

"To the Great Hall," her words were strained, the age of her body catching up with the overexertion she was putting it under. "Poppy has moved there for the larger space it allows for the injured, and it is where most of the school's defenders have localized."

Harry forced a false portrait to the side, unveiling a steep staircase that would take them down to the main entrance way.

"There's more of us?"

McGonagall looked to him out of the corner of her eye. "We're not done fighting yet," there was a tight curl to her lip – one he'd learnt over the years to associate with pride. "Your call of alarm was not missed."

Before he could ask for any more details, they'd reached the carved double doors of the Great Hall.

"Who's there?" Called a voice from within.

"It is I, Minerva McGonagall, acting Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The door creaked open with her announcement, light pooling out from inside, illuminating the figure of Madam Pomfrey. "Oh Minerva, thank the stars! You're a sight for sore eyes."

"You as well Poppy, though I'm afraid Filius is in need of your tender care."

"Of course, of course, bring him in," she sighed heavily, the wrinkles of her face more pronounced under her stress. "Unfortunately he isn't the first, and certainly not the last I will be looking at. I've had the house-elves bringing me my potions," she said, leading them past rows of tables and transfigured beds. "I've had them searching through Snape's private stores, since we have exhausted my own and Horace's supplies."

"Severus has betrayed us Poppy, he was the one to do this to Filius." Harry could hear the genuine hurt in McGonagall's voice.

"Well, at least I won't have a need to apologize to the horrid man for stealing his potions," Pomfrey remarked, setting Professor Flitwick down and starting her examination of his injuries.

"Harry!"

He'd barely had the time to turn, before being assaulted by a bushy brown blur. "Oh, Harry… you're alright! I didn't – we –" Hermione was shaking against his chest.

Ron came rushing forward after her. "Mate, we thought the Death Eaters got you. Where have you been?"

"Everywhere."

It seemed too simple a response, but it was the only thing that could encapsulate everything he had gone through.

"Bloody hell, what happened to you!" Ron shouted, perhaps a touch too loud. He stepped back out of their embrace, his face open in shock, likely having fully taken in his appearance for the first time.

"Merlin Ron, don't shout at the poor bloke. He looks like he just went ten rounds with an Ironbelly."

Harry felt a pair of strong arms guide him to the nearest bench.

"Charlie?" He finally looked up to see the man. "What are you doing here?"

"Word got out about what was going down, and the Order's come to help out," he gestured to the far side of the hall, where a collection of recognizable Order members stood out: Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Hestia.

Suddenly, they all turned to look in his direction and started to make their way over. Harry figured it was Moody's eye that saw him.

"Potter," Moody barked, his fake leg stomping at an uneven rhythm across the floor. "You're at the center of all this, what's happened?" It was odd having the entire Order focusing their attentions on him at once. It was something he'd once hoped for – being treated as an equal, and having them respect and value his opinion. But he'd never dreamed of it coming like this.

"I spotted Malfoy's name on the map…" he started slowly, his mind was racing faster than he could process. "There were names I didn't recognize… Gibbon... Amycus, Alecto –"

"The Carrow twins," Moody spat, "as vile as they come."

"Yeah, I figured." Harry didn't need an explanation of the cruelty they were capable of. "There were more of them there, Bellatrix and Travers, and others with their masks still on. I went to confront them."

He could see the disapproval on many of the Order members faces, but he didn't care. He did what needed to be done.

"They didn't want me, they ran. They said they had other orders that needed to be done."

"What were they?"

"That's what I went with Susan to find out," he could see some of the collected group looking around for the mentioned girl, and Harry felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. "I fought the Carrows… Susan –" his throat was closing in upon itself, but he forced himself forward, "she sacrificed herself for me."

He heard Hermione's choked sob, and Moody and Shacklebolt's curses underneath their breaths.

"Malfoy brought them through a Vanishing Cabinet, but it broke before all the Death Eaters could make it. Apparently he's been breaking down the school's enchantments for months – Carrow said something about basilisk venom and an anchor." It made little sense to him, but perhaps someone more knowledgeable could put it all together.

"I think I can explain," a voice spoke from the side. "Enchantments or wards on their own can stand for long periods of time, but when you have a large plot of land – like Hogwarts – with as many spells and protections placed on it as it does, you need an anchor to keep them ordered, and to prevent them from interfering with each other."

Harry looked over to see Bill standing beside his brother Charlie, having made his way over at some point. At his side, was Fleur. She looked entirely uncomfortable, nervous, and skittish, but her gaze was fixed solely on his.

"To unravel or re-work the enchantments on an anchor would take a team of Curse-Breaker's an extended amount of time. It took us months to do maintenance at Nurmengard earlier in the year. With something as potent as Basilisk venom, Malfoy wouldn't have needed to rework the enchantments, he could simply break them down."

"That would explain how the Death Eaters are getting in so easily now," Hestia spoke from the side.

"There's more of them?" Harry did not like the implications of that statement.

"They're flying in on brooms, and Nearly Headless Nick was saying he saw some coming in through the Honeydukes passage behind the state of the One-Eyed Witch," it was Fred this time who spoke.

George followed, "He also said something about the main staircase collapsing."

"Yeah… about that," Harry coughed awkwardly. "There was a fight on the moving staircases, and one of them collapsed, crushing everything beneath it."

"And you survived that?" It was Hestia that asked the question everyone was thinking, but were too busy staring bug-eyed at him.

"Of course he did," Ron shot back from his side, "do you know who you're bloody talking to?" Harry felt a surge of affection towards his friend, who sounded almost insulted at the fact someone questioned his ability to defy death.

"Harry, do you know where Dumbledore is?" It was Kingsley who asked, and similar murmurs could be heard from those around them.

Harry paused, and again felt the overwhelming urge not to tell the truth. What was he supposed to say? The truth? That Dumbledore was severely injured by a potion he forced the man to drink, and now lay senseless in his office. How could he tell them that the man they looked to as a saviour, was in no shape to protect them?

He was saved from the decision by a magically amplified voice, "Attention!"

The room turned to see Professor McGonagall standing on a table. "The Death Eaters have slowly been assembling their numbers. It is now that we must act, if we are to protect this institution. There will be no more murder at Hogwarts!"

A collective cheer burst from a chorus of voices. Professor McGonagall's attempt at rallying the forces appeared to be going well. It was only beneath the hoots and hollers, that Harry could hear the whispers about the whereabouts of Dumbledore and his imminent arrival.

 _Let them have hope_ , he thought. _Let them fight with the faith that Dumbledore was behind them_.

He didn't know when it happened, but at some point the doors to the Great Hall were opened and they flooded into battle. He felt as if he were in a dream. Hundreds of bodies all around him, moving and shouting and fighting. It was as if he was stuck in the waves of a relentless storm, getting battered in any which way at a time, and being disoriented to the point of not knowing which direction was up. He could see a rainbow of spells: blue, red, and green, indiscriminatingly hitting friend a foe alike. Bodies were dropping and flying, brooms were zipping overhead, and suits of armour took to battle like the stories of old.

Harry found himself beside Ron, dueling a blond Death Eater, who had taken to casting nothing but the killing curse. He'd already killed one of his own after Ron's tripping jinx wrong footed the man and sent his curse off course. It took Harry his entire concentration and skill of transfiguration to conjure slabs of wood and rock to contain the damage of his manic spellcasting.

It wasn't a spell from either of them that felled the man, but one that came from behind, hooking him by the ankle and hoisting him ten feet into the air. Hermione stood beneath him, her wand poised and ready.

"Don't trust the Prince, huh?" Ron laughed, as the trio reunited.

"Oh shut up, Ron," she lightly smacked him, blushing at being caught using a spell from the book she had been complaining about all year.

"Useful isn't it?"

"Very," Hermione replied honestly, while transfiguring a rock into a rodent that scurried up the robes of an unsuspecting Death Eater, distracting them long enough to be stunned.

Something stirred in the air, stilling Harry amongst the chaos. He'd been the only one to feel it, but gradually – as if one by one – he could see an unconscious realization settling over the battlefield.

Everyone was frightened, but one side far more than the other.

He'd heard of their use in the first war, but experiencing it first hand was something entirely different. Knowing that Voldemort held the power to control these abominations was terrifying. The battle raged around him, but Harry's eyes were stuck to the sky, where a dark fluttering could be seen in the approaching dawn.

The first swooped down and brought the chill of winter. The second came, and all happiness was sucked out from the world. They swarmed after that – targeting individuals and sapping their strength like leeches. It was a malevolent magic that settled in their bones, and one that would only grow as time went on, until your turn came for the kiss.

He couldn't let this continue, not when the hope of their victory was hanging by a thread. There wasn't time for the defenders to cast their protections, too busy dueling for their lives. It was a two front attack, one by land and one by air. They were vastly outnumbered, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

It was simply a manner of belief, as he'd learnt back in third year. Time-travel was not the key to his success; it was the fact he knew he could do it, because he'd done it before. The same principle applied now.

His happiest memories flooded his mind, filling him with a power beyond words and a will to overcome anything. A silver stag pranced proudly out the end of his wand, clearing the stink of oppression from the air. Unholy screeches rang out from the amortal abominations, unable to withstand the purity of the Patronus charm. Waves of pulsing energy emanated from Prongs with each _clop_ of his hooves through the sky; but for each Dementor that pulled back, six others took their place.

More and more of Hogwarts' protectors were falling. They were being pushed into a retreat, their position collapsing around Harry. He could see Ron shouting and cursing and pushing his way against the current of bodies, trying to reach a brown haired figure that disappeared behind the encroaching line of black cloaks.

He refused to be beaten. The images of late nights in a comforting tower came to mind. Twinkling eyes, and a wise old smile, fueled him with a second wind. He'd never felt such love, as when he'd visited the quiet village of Godric's Hollow, and spent an afternoon tending to a garden overlooking the sea. It was then that inspiration hit.

With one last violent charge, Prongs scattered the Dementors into the sky above, before dispersing into a shimmering mist. Taking care to let the nature of the spell take root in his body – to fill his spirit with love and joy and hope – Harry directed the Patronus to form a dome around his allies.

Dumbledore had once claimed, that to the right wizard, anything was possible. He certainly needed that to be true, if he was going to pull this off on a scale never attempted before.

Like parasites, the Dementors came down and fed on the positive energy of the thin layer separating them from their true prey. It was a sickening sight, not being able to spot an inch of the silvery protection, as so many Dementors were now hanging along its exterior. He could almost feel the spell giving way, the Dementors trying to burrow through, but still he held on.

A white glow was building within – a blinding power of the love he held in his heart for all those fighting here beside him, and all those who'd passed in their fight against evil.

The first crack split open, a Dementor passed through, and Harry knew it was time. He dropped his protection, and the remaining Dementors swooped in like a foul black cloud. They came in search of souls, but what they found instead was the closest they would ever be to experiencing death. The energy stored within burst with an echoing blast, consuming the Dementors with the antithesis of their own being. They might not be capable of dying, but they certainly could feel pain, and this was their hell on earth.

Ear-splitting cheers rang out amongst the grounds at the sight of the fleeing demons, who refused to stand any longer when matched against something that could cause them all-consuming torment.

As the celebration died out, a single slow clap cut through the silence. Its source was lost to everyone, as they looked around in confusion, but not Harry. Out in the distance, beyond the courtyard and on the long winding path to the gates, was a tall hooded figure flanked by three others.

 _Oh no_.

"The Ministry is here –"

"– through the Floo!"

"– do you see the Minister –"

Voices rang out around him, but failed to penetrate his awareness. His eyes had yet to leave the approaching quartet.

"Harry! Harry!" He felt a strong tug on his shoulder, dragging his attention to a frantic looking Bill Weasley. "Harry, have you seen Fleur? Do you know where she went? I can't find her!"

Harry dumbly shook his head, Bill's words not fully registering with him. Very little mattered now outside what was approaching. He could feel his crimson eyes burning into him from the distance.

It seemed his time had finally come.

His body was weightless, and moved on its own accord, parting between the opposing factions in its path to the new arrivals. He could feel a gentle pull from the wand in his hand, the remnant of phoenix encased in holly sensing the presence of its estranged brother. They were drawn together by the threads of fate, pitted against another since before his birth.

He stood there, one against four, on the broken remnants of a fountain at the edge of the courtyard. Not twenty feet away were Snape, Bellatrix, Travers, and their Lord Voldemort. Inhumanly tall and shaped more serpent-like than man, with skin as white as the last vestiges of snow at the new birth of Spring, Voldemort looked just as monstrous as he did nearly a year ago in the Ministry. His clapping finally ceased, but his red eyes continued to burn with a brutality beyond that of men.

"Seventeen year ago, I'd thought I made a mistake in visiting Godric's Hollow that night," his voice was nought but a whisper, yet it cut through the roar of battle with ease.

Equal amounts of frightful cries and shouts of triumphant could be heard from behind him, with Voldemort's presence made known.

"For long, torturous years where I was nothing but a formless wraith feeding off others, I questioned whether I was mistaken in my attempts to kill you. But seeing you now, proving once again to being an obstacle in my plans, I know I did not err in my judgment. Prophecy or no, there is greatness about you, Harry Potter, and that is why you must die."

A ripple went through the crowd with his hissed words. Harry could practically taste the fear in the air, and Voldemort revelled in it.

A strange thought suddenly occurred to Harry. This was likely the first time, many of those here saw Voldemort in the flesh and faced against him. He was a magical boogeyman more than anything – his name feared to the point it wasn't spoken. He was a nightmare made flesh, and just like they were taught as children, when a nightmare passes it does not come back. But Voldemort did. For the first time, Harry gleamed an understanding as to why the magical community wished to remain wilfully ignorant of his return. It was because living in fantasy – for them – was better than accepting what stood mere feet away.

Movement at his side caught Harry's attention, with Kingsley and McGonagall stepping bravely to his right. Turning to his left, he saw Tonks move beside him, with – much to his surprise – Aurors Fardale and Conner. It seemed that the Ministry had indeed arrived.

"You can't protect him, not now, not anymore. He will die by my hand," Voldemort addressed those who came to stand beside him. "I am a merciful Lord, I have no wish to spill old blood and that of respected members of society. There is a place for you all in the world I envision. Just give me Harry Potter."

McGonagall shifted in front of him, and drew herself to her full height, "As acting Headmistress I cannot simply give you a child under my care."

"Acting?" Voldemort let out a breathy laugh, one that was awkward sounding as if he didn't do it too often. "And where is the great Albus Dumbledore?" He exclaimed, and made a show of searching the grounds with his arms spread wide. "Has he fled at the sight of me? Cowering like he always has when confronted with his failures."

Curses rang out from those faithful to the headmaster.

"No, no… that isn't his way. There must be something else… he would never leave the side of his precious Boy-Who-Lived." Voldemort turned his sinister gaze towards Harry. They stared unblinkingly at one another, neither wanting to back down. He could see the temptation in Voldemort's eyes, to pierce his mind and tear the answer free himself. But there was a hesitance – a fear perhaps – that held him back. Harry remembered the agony Voldemort felt when he'd tried to possess him, and was confident he would steer clear of his mind.

"It matters not," he said finally, breaking the contact between them. "It will only make it easier for me to end you."

"I can fight you on my own," Harry spoke up for the first time, his voice firm despite the shaking of his body. In that moment, he could feel every single ache and pain: the spreading decay of his torn ankle, the burning stabs throbbing from his blistered side, the shards of bone digging into the muscle of his left shoulder, and just the overall exhaustion from everything he'd been through.

"Perhaps at some point… it's a shame we will never know." Voldemort's wand was a blur, faster than Harry could believe, and an arching purple bolt forced him to duck hastily.

Battle flashed to life all around him, perhaps more viciously than before. They duelled to kill, each breaking off on their own. Grudges were weighed and thrown out for all to see. McGonagall and Kingsley were fighting to end Snape for his betrayal, Tonks looked half-mad shouting curses at her aunt, and Fardale and Conner were partnering against Travers.

Harry looked up knowing what that meant.

"Come, Harry, fulfill your destiny."

His wand burned with life in his hand, and Harry knew Voldemort was feeling the same.

The pointless bustling and flashing of spells around them meant nothing to Harry. It was all meaningless, except for the killer in front of him.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

The first killing curse came flying at him with the speed of a well struck bludger, forcing Harry to twist an iron gate into a web between them. The second and third flashed into his creation, just as the first did, slowly corroding the metal into a dripping pool of acid.

Not wanting to waste a moment, Harry assembled a pile of rubble into an enormous boulder with a wave of his wand, and sent it hurtling at Voldemort.

There was a fierce bang, and the projectile exploded outwards, digging deep trenches into the earth where they impacted. Whatever stones were still in the air, ignited midflight, and were directed down upon him like a shower of meteors. Harry thrust his wand into the air, summoning a gust of wind that caught the falling missiles in its twisting grasp, and threw them into the depths of the Black Lake.

"Now this is what I would have expected from the child of prophecy, not the worthless waste I'd fought before," Voldemort sneered. "Though if this is the best you can muster, then you'll soon be dead!"

Voldemort shouted a curse, and a storm of shadows came crawling into existence, grasping and pulling with tendril-like hands, and dispersing through the air. He'd recognized the spell from his reading through _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ , and countered it with the most powerful _lumos_ he could muster.

White light beat back the invading darkness, searing the air between them with salt and smoke, forcing the hair on his neck to stand on its end.

"What –" Confusion was written across Voldemort's face. He'd not expected Harry to know such a spell, much less its counter; and in the seconds that passed Harry could see the way in which Voldemort was revaluating him.

Pressing his small advantage, Harry flicked his wand with a complex twirl; the force of the spell sent tremors underfoot and had the power to level a small building. The only warning of its impeding strike was a shockwave of displaced air, and Voldemort seemingly faded out of existence, his body vanishing into a wisp of dark smoke that flew safely overhead.

"Enough of this foolishness! Die Potter!" Voldemort spat as he re-materialized behind him. A green spell was streaming towards him faster than Harry could react.

But what he was unable to do, his wand did for him. There was a flash of heat, as his holly wand spun him around and shot out a golden beam. The spells collided and locked, the sound of a phoenix trilled overhead in a magical phenomenon he was only too familiar with.

They were back together in the graveyard again, sparks of energy surging through the thread that linked them. The magic of the brother wands lifted them up into the air, a translucent sphere encircling the two of them. Voldemort could be heard screaming across from him, his bone white wand bucking in his skeletal fingers – and Harry could feel an immense pressure building in his own. The point of connection was swaying uneasily between them, pushing and pulling in their battle of wills.

Around them the fighting had come to a halt – though he couldn't see beyond that, as the vibrating light around them clouded his vision. Voldemort's rage was high and cold in pitch, and another voice joined him in his screeching… himself…

A skull bursting pain, beyond all imagine, split through his head. Murderous rage and pain and fear surged through him, much of which did not belong to him. For the first time in near a year, his scar was burning with untold agony. Through, he could feel the difference between this and the pain of the past – it was much worse now. It had once been controlled and probing and sadistic, but now it rushed without direction, as if it was beyond Voldemort's command.

Harry felt his wand shudder, as Voldemort tried to break the connection before the Priori Incantatem came to pass. But rather than the shades of his parents emerging as they once had, a resounding _CRACK_ echoed across the open grounds of the castle. The horrible sound was followed by a series of smaller crunches, and Harry looked down in time to see his wand splinter in half.

The magic died around them, and Harry fell painfully to the unforgiving ground below.

He stared in mute horror at the shattered pieces of holly, limply held together by a phoenix feather in his hand. His wand was broken. It was something he couldn't possibly comprehend, even with the evidence quite literally in his hands. It had been his first real connection to the magical world – what made a scared eleven-year-old boy actually feel like a wizard. _The wand chooses the wizard_ , Ollivander had once told him, just before divulging its dark secret; and now he was a wizard without a wand.

A sharp pain jolted his leg as if affronted by that statement. He could glimpse Voldemort staggering to his feet across from him when he looked down, and saw the end of an intricately decorated handle poking out of his pocket.

Dumbledore's wand. No – _His wand._

He could feel it rumble pleasantly with his claim of ownership. He'd forgotten that he'd taken the wand off his headmaster in the cave, to stop him from burning them alive with the Inferi. He let Dumbledore down in his office when they arrived, but forgot to return the wand. Some fortune had granted him this lifeline, and he swore he wouldn't put it to waste.

Pushing up from his knees, the ground erupted before him with practiced ease and blocked an incoming killing curse. He'd never seen Voldemort as angry as he did now standing across from him – his corrosive rage spilled into Harry through the scar.

He felt powerful.

Planting himself firmly to the ground, Harry tapped into a magic he had used once before. He could feel the storm brewing in and around himself – the fury and chaos of nature firmly under his control. Yipping and yapping like a pack of wild animals, blasts of wind whipped past Harry and towards Voldemort – promising nothing but frightening destruction. Voldemort disappeared in the face of the unstoppable force, his body obscured by the mounds of earth and stone torn up by the powerful winds. Harry could feel his own creation threaten to pull him into the twister and the carnage within, but resisted. Dark clouds emerged and thunder clapped just above them all – lighting striking with irregular beats.

For a scant few seconds, something was visible from within. A dark, rippling figure – a shadow – growing and stretching into indistinct hellish forms. With a primal roar, Voldemort stepped through the whirling winds, and flung them back in his direction.

Harry stood dumbstruck. _How?_ His control of the storm was ripped out of his grasp, leaving him empty and staring, as his best chance of defeating Voldemort was now being used against him.

It was pure desperation that led him to what he did next. Dumbledore had taught him this, one long night ago, when he'd asked him what he could do for Daphne at Slughorn's Party. He'd used elemental transfiguration as a trick to make her flowers that night, and this should not have been any different, just on a larger scale– at least that was what the theory suggested.

Sweeping his wand in great lengths of fluid motion, waves of water shot up from the Black Lake and moved to swallow the approaching storm. It was a battle of the elements, as wind fought water - Harry shaped the liquid to circle the other spell, trapping it at its core. The water surged from within, sending splashes from its churning surface to the ground below. Focusing on the feel of the soil beneath his feet, the water gradually stilled, and turned a murky brown color that dispersed throughout. It hardened and shrunk, until there was nothing more than a ball of dirt suspended above them. He smashed it down to the earth, and the trapped air within blasted both him and Voldemort backwards.

Harry stumbled back to his feet, coughing up mud, and grunting from the duress is body was put under. Something shifted in the air – the world felt lighter, as if invisible shackles had been taken off.

There was a flash of flame, and Dumbledore appeared, stroking Fawkes with his good hand – the other sporting a fresh glove.

"Leave the boy, Tom."

"At last you arrive," Voldemort hissed, and dusted off his pitch black robes as if nothing had happened previously. "I was beginning to fear that I would not be given the chance to kill the both of you."

"I'm afraid you will not be killing Harry today. You were foolish to come here, Tom, just as you were foolish to do so at the Ministry. You never do learn," Dumbledore chastised him as if he were still his student.

There was something wrong about what was going on. Harry could feel it. Despite the appearance he was putting up, Harry could see just how weak he remained from their travel to the cave.

"You always did think you knew best," Voldemort called.

"It is a fault of mine, admittedly," Dumbledore smirked in jest. "Though, in matters such as these – regarding love and fear – I am more knowledgeable than you could possibly hope to be."

"Your love is an old man's dream, Dumbledore. I have conquered death!" Voldemort's madness was peeking through. "I have no need for love. I will bring about a new age, and all will accept my mercy."

"A great wizard you might consider yourself to be. But any truly _good_ wizard can see the fool you really are." Voldemort snarled and brandished his wand, but Dumbledore continued on, paying him no heed. "You speak of dreams Tom, yet all you have ever aspired to be, was first shaped in the mind of a frightened little boy who yearned for power."

"Your world is a fantasy!" Dumbledore's voice projected across the highlands, captivating all those who listened.

But Harry could see the quiver of his legs – the way he looked to buckle at any moment. Why was Dumbledore using up all his strength? Was he trying to intimidate Voldemort into leaving?

"Your actions inspire nothing but resistance! What you envision can never come to be – each step of the way, you create your own enemies with your failure to understand what it means to be human. In your fear over your own power, you set off to murder a newborn babe… and now look who stands before you! Harry Potter, is everything that makes you weak Tom! If you strike down one who lives with love in their heart, hundreds more will rise in their place –"

"I am immortal!" Voldemort screeched.

"There is much worse than experiencing death's embrace…" Dumbledore smiled sadly, his body squaring up to face Voldemort.

 _Dumbledore didn't have a wan_ d, the thought hit Harry suddenly. He was standing against Voldemort defenceless.

"There is nothing worse." His words were low and dangerous and filled with murderous intent.

"Then go ahead, strike true." Dumbledore opened his arms in invitation, and Fawkes leaped off his shoulder and into the air.

 _No!_

Harry wasn't sure if he was the one who said it, or if it was one of the countless other's yelling out in that moment. He needed to reach Dumbledore, he couldn't let this happen! What was Dumbledore thinking!? They needed him – _He_ needed him.

His heart stopped – he couldn't breathe – this couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose him, not after everything they'd gone through. He couldn't lose another person he loved.

"No!" Harry was certain it was him that protested this time.

He'd promised they would take down Voldemort together.

Dumbledore turned his head to him, silvery tears spilling out his twinkling blue eyes. "Do as I could not," his aged face spasmed with emotion, struggling to voice his next words, "Live and love, my son, that is all I ever wanted for you."

Fawkes sung overhead – a melody of hope and deep loss, that filled Harry with more emotion than he could handle. His eyes began to leak unashamedly – the music of mourning playing low and sweet.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA"_

Their eyes had yet to part, telling a story that could never be put to words. Dumbledore looked the most at peace Harry had ever seen him, a gentle smile pulling underneath his thick beard and whiskers. Harry could understand why – he was going home to his family.

He felt a gentle prod against his mind, one warm and familiar and not long for this world; and as the green of death approached, he let it in. He stood in front a black stoned fortress that stretched endlessly along the horizon and to the cloud covered sky. He travelled along the inky black walls to the easternmost part of the stronghold – and behind the statue of a young man, sat a single brick carved in the fashion of a phoenix.

He was sucked out of the memory as quickly as he was drawn in, and found himself staring back into Dumbledore's deep blue eyes. There was no hint of the castle or the memory he was shown within them any longer – only love.

A second cry came in from above, but one that modulated to strength and triumph. It was a call to victory that heralded a new day.

An eruption of flames swallowed the world around Harry, dancing upon his skin without heat. He could feel his body being taken away against his will. He wanted to stay with Dumbledore, but the world was spinning out from under him. The last he saw of his mentor was a flash of green within a blaze of red, orange, and gold.

"No!" He screamed immediately upon being dumped to the carpeted floor of some far-off place. "No! NO! _NO!"_

He wanted to go back. He needed to go back. Dumbledore wasn't dead – he couldn't be. The man was well over a hundred years old, he'd defeated Grindelwald, he was the greatest wizard he knew.

But he'd heard the words, seen the flash, gazed upon the look on his face –

"Come back!" He punched the wall in frustration, "Come back!" He didn't know who he was yelling at, but it felt good to be doing something.

He could see now that he was standing in Grimmauld Place, but was too angry – too afraid, to care why it was here he was dropped off. It hurt – everything hurt. His mind, his body, his soul. It was broken. All of it. He wanted to die – he'd grown tired of living. if this was what was in store for him.

 _There will be a time when those closest to you perish._

There were too many names, each and every one too painful to count.

 _You will feel your heart break and your soul shatter, like they will never be put whole again._

Nothing would ever be the same.

 _You must not let their deaths destroy._

It would be so easy to die.

 _You must not stop._

He'd known. Dumbledore had known this was coming.

 _You must fight on, and do what needs to be done._

He'd prepared him for this – all but told him – so he would be ready for when it came to pass. He couldn't fail him. Not after everything Dumbledore had done.

Harry needed to move – the Order was bound to arrive back here at some point, and he needed to be gone by then. He had someplace to go. Dumbledore left him with a clue, and he needed to follow it as soon as possible.

He knew the Order stored extra potions in the bathroom upstairs, and went to filch some before he left. He would need all the help he could get in the effort to heal some of his injuries. There were a few blood-replenishers and numbing solutions by the sink, which he stuffed into the pockets of his robes. He didn't see any Skele-Gro, but recognized enough spare ingredients that he could use to brew it himself. He exited the bathroom, having grabbed everything that could have been of use.

The sound of furniture being knocked around could be heard from floors above. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, and Harry's nerves were immediately set on edge. He cautiously crept up the steps, taking extra care not give away his approach. Drawers being open and shut, a trunk being dragged across the floor, and footsteps pacing back and forth could be distinctly heard now. It was only by a stroke of luck that they hadn't heard him first – their own racket likely having drowned out most of his noise.

He burst suddenly through the door, and nearly dropped in shock. "Fleur?"

Fleur shrieked and skittered to face him, her face flushed a deep red. "Arry!" Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, clearly only just recognizing who had walked in on her. She ran and drew him into an embrace.

He held onto her tightly, his face immersed in the lavender scent of her silvery hair, relishing in the human contact she provided him.

"Arry, you are alive?" She looked at him in awe and disbelief, tears welling in her eyes.

"Barely…" he breathed out, nuzzling against the gentle hand that was cupping the side of his face.

"You are 'urt," there was a hint of fear in her small voice as she took in his appearance.

He hummed in agreement, words failing him in the moment. He closed his eyes and drew her closer, drowning in her warmth and the feeling that he wasn't alone. He wasn't sure how long they stood there, in each other's arms, but it wasn't near long enough in his opinion.

"Dumbledore's dead." It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and it tore him apart on the inside. "I watched him – I couldn't – he just stood there… and let it happen." The words were a scattered mess that he wanted to get out.

He felt Fleur twitch against him when he mentioned Dumbledore's death. "He was a great man," she whispered into his ear.

"A _good_ man," Harry corrected. "He was _good_."

His mind ran through the events of the day like a faulty projector, skipping along in time, small snippets flashing before his eyes. How had it gone so wrong? The Order had come together in the Great Hall and rallied against the Death Eaters with some success. Was it the arrival of the Dementors? The Ministry appeared after he fought them off, just as he'd spotted Voldemort and Bill came up to him asking about –

Harry opened his eyes and stepped out of their embracing, causing Fleur to stumble at his sudden movement. His gaze flickered around the room.

"Why did you leave?" She shifted uneasily with his question.

Looking behind her, he could see an open trunk with a shimmering blue material sitting on top, and only now realized she was trying to hide it. The open drawers, the empty closet, the clothing strewn about the floor, it was not painting a pretty picture.

"'Arry –"

"No." He snapped, and she jumped back. His head was pounding – a familiar ache was pouring out of his scar. He bent down and picked up her Weasley jumper discarded on the floor, "What is this?"

"'Arry, I can explain…"

"You're leaving." He looked at her as if he'd never seen her before.

It was the small nod of her head, that broke him.

"I have orders."

"You have orders? What bloody orders, from Dumbledore?" For a second he dared to hope – maybe Dumbledore had given her a mission before his death.

"No, not from Dumbledore."

Harry felt dead inside.

"I can explain… no, I need to explain. To someone – to you at least."

There was something odd with the way she was speaking.

"Go on, explain it then," he stepped further away from the stranger standing in front of him.

"I… it's difficult for me to find a place to start. I suppose it would have –"

"You know what I think," Harry cut her clear off, his mind beyond even trying to contain his temper. "I think you're _afraid._ I think you got a taste of what the Death Eaters are capable of, and you decided to cut and run." He wasn't sure what possessed him to say that.

"Don't you dare call me a _coward_!" Fleur snapped, a hint of the woman he knew poked through.

"Just like Daphne! You warned me about her – how she would always come first and how she would leave when it mattered." Harry was laughing now. "I thought you were trying to tell me you would be the one to stand by my side… but I was wrong." Just like he always was. "You were warning me about yourself."

"I was warning you, because she was wrong for you!"

"And what, you're not! From where I'm standing I see no difference between you and her!"

"Do not lecture me on things you don't understand, Harry Potter."

It was there, that Harry picked up on what he found so odd.

"Your accent?"

"My what?" Her eyes widened.

Fleur's accent was gone. Not in its entirety – her words still carried a French lilt to their vowels and a sharpness to their consonants – but it was without the thickness it had once prominently carried.

"Who are you?" His wand was out, thrumming with power in his grip.

"I am Fleur Delacour, put your wand away 'Arry," she took a step and reached out to lower his arm.

"What the fuck is going on!?" Harry felt as if his head was about to burst. Nothing made sense to him anymore. At some point he'd fallenl to the floor, his head in his hands, the world spinning out of control around him.

"I have no choice in this!" she cried out.

"There's always a choice." It wasn't the first time he'd said that today.

"Perhaps…" she paused, and he could hear the sound of her picking up her trunk and closing its lid, "but I've already made mine."

"And that is?"

"I am to return to France, the ICW has need of me."

"What does the ICW need you for? You work for Gringotts." He didn't know why he chose to speak up, he clearly didn't know the girl he thought he did.

"I told you, it is complicated and difficult to explain," her voice was tired and beaten and sad.

"Just bloody well say it already!"

"Fine! I am spy! Is that that the truth you wanted to hear," she spat. "That just like that hateful man Snape, I am forced to do things I do not wish to do. That each morning I look myself in the mirror and hate what I see – that what stares back at me is this shameful woman who destroyed the girl I used to be," there was so much pain in her pale blue eyes it was hard for Harry to look.

"You can't possibly be –"

"That is the making of a good spy, non? The impossibility of their true role," more and more of her natural accent was starting to bleed in. "Though I'm sure Dumbledore knew – he was the Supreme Mugwump when I was first recruited after the Triwizard tournament."

"Why? What could the ICW possibly gain from any of this?"

"Information, and the power that comes with it. They wanted to know more about Voldemort's new rise to power, so they sent me to work at Gringotts. It was a favorable arrangement, as the Goblins had need of enchanters, and those versed in magical artifacts to help deal with some dark object they found in connection with Voldemort."

That caught Harry's attention, had the goblins found a Horcrux?

"It was only when I arrived that those dreadful creatures discovered I was of Veela blood and wanted nothing to do with me. From aiding in their investigation, I was relegated to desk work and spying for them as well. I was bound to two masters, and that was when I met William," her voice was tight with shame.

"You used him," Harry said with dawning realisation.

A shudder ran through Fleur's body, and she nodded slightly. "I recognized William from when he visited you at the tournament, and knew that you were close to his family. It was clear he took a liking to me from the first day and invited me to lunch. He spoke of his family often as we spent more time together – you as well – and eventually I was invited to the Order."

Harry was sick, his stomach had heaved several times over, and he would have thrown up if he there was food in his stomach. "How could you?" venom dripped from each word. "How could you abuse him like that? Abuse all their trust like it was nothing!"

The Weasley's weren't perfect – but they were good people – better people than he had ever known. They shared what little they had with those they loved.

"Do you think it was easy for me to do? That I am some heartless bitch? To see the way William and his family cared for me, while I used them to get to you –" She cut herself off, but had already said too much.

"Of course…" his voice was low and dangerous, "it's always the people I care about that get hurt because of me. Of course it had to do with me!" Harry shot to his feet and punched the wall, splitting his knuckles.

"Listen, Harry please!" She pleaded, stepping towards him but jerked away. "It was like that at first, but not always… I grew to know you – care for you. That night before Christmas, when you gave me that cloak and I kissed you, I couldn't deny it any longer… I'd fallen in lo –"

"No!" He thrashed around like a wounded animal, "Don't say it! Don't you fucking say it!"

"Harry…" her voice was small and vulnerable; her secret already been laid bare. "It's the truth."

"Is it? After everything you just said – after what you did to Bill?"

"Do not speak about William!" Her voice cracked. "I could have loved him! For a time, I wanted to – but how could I? Not after what I'd done to him, and not after you. You must believe me."

"How can I do that? You used us all – you used _me_. I loved you, Fleur. I loved you, and I wanted to tell you, but I knew that Bill loved you as well, and I couldn't do that to a family I cared so much about." He could see the way the words crushed Fleur's spirit. "You played us – strung as along in this damn game where there are no winners. How can anything be the same after that?" His heart and soul and mind were at war; beaten and broken and battered, just as his body was. "How can I be sure this wasn't just a beautiful lie?"

"Come with me," her words were not what he was expecting. "Go back to France with me. We'll be together, you can meet my family – see Gabrielle again. I can take you to the fields where I am happiest, and where I grew up. We can live and love, and when the time comes we will face whoever tries to take that away from us."

 _Live and love, my son, that is all I ever wanted for you._ Dumbledore's final words floated back to him.

Fleur's blue eyes shone with a deep-felt longing, and in that suspended moment in time, there was nothing he wanted more than to join her.

He blinked, and breathed, and reality set upon his shoulders again. It wasn't his time. He couldn't fulfill Dumbledore's hopes for his life with the way things were. He had somewhere to go, and it wasn't back to France with Fleur… at least not yet.

Taking a step back from the woman he had chosen to love, Harry's eyes never left hers until he vanished with a _crack_ , travelling to the place where it all began.

 **AN:**

 **And that ends the first arc of the story. I hope you all enjoyed it! I've had a lot of the scenes planned for months now, and it was great finally putting them down to paper. Just a fun fact, but the alternate title for this story was: To Live and Love. The big Fleur reveal has come at last, and I can't wait to see some of your reactions. I hope most of you were at least somewhat surprised, and liked it. Their relationship is very much broken at the moment, but I promise in the future all will (maybe) be okay.**

 **I will be taking a slight break for the next little while. I've written a ton of words for this story in the last month and a half or so, and I think I could do with a little rest before picking up again. Sometime around the end of December would be my best guess. Maybe a bit later, so I can enjoy my holidays and lay some more groundwork for where I'm going to go next, given its largely AU nature.**

 **Thank you all for the very kind reviews, and I can't wait to read everyone's thoughts and this grand finale. A lot happened, so feel free to talk about any of it!**


	19. Chapter 19

Interlude:

The smell was intoxicating, inviting, and torturous. He could feel his mouth start to water, like that dog Mr. Chambers went on about in class yesterday. Not that he listened. He _really_ didn't like dogs, and he _really_ didn't like Mr. Chambers. His dad always told him science was a load of tosh, meant for crackpots and conspiracy theorists. It always did make him feel better when his teachers would test him on things that didn't make any sense.

 _Why does Mum do this to me?_ He wondered not for the first time since the buzzer had gone off for the oven. They'd definitely cooled off by now. His school work was long forgotten at this point; his attention stolen by the golden brown rings of goodness that smelt like the heavens. Only a few years ago, half the tray would have been gone at this point… but that was a few years ago, and things were different now.

He didn't like thinking about the past.

For whatever reason, his Mum always baked cookies on the weekend. Today was no exception, despite her and dad going off to some fancy dinner party. Their house was supposed to be on a diet, and they ended up just throwing them out – unless dad managed to sneak a handful – but she continued to make them anyway. It was tradition. He saw her crying once while mixing the dough and figured she'd had a row with dad, but thinking back on it later, he didn't remember them having a fight. He left it alone, knowing mum didn't like talking about things that made her sad.

Pushing thoughts of melted chocolate cookies from his head, he tried to focus on the mountain of schoolwork he had to finish.

 _I wonder if his homework is any less dull, or if it's just like ours?_

An enormous _CRACK_ shook the house to its very foundations. His stack of papers was knocked into a hopeless mess, the chandelier in the dining room was swinging wildly overhead, and picture frames tumbled off their shelves to the floor. Dudley was frozen in shock.

He heard the front door burst open, and had the sudden urge to relieve himself. It didn't matter that he was standing in the middle of the kitchen. There was a burning sensation pulsing through his arse, right where there was a piece of scar tissue from the operation he'd had to remove that tail all those years ago. That meant only one thing. Magic.

Was the house under attack? Hadn't that Dumbly-bloke told his parents that evil wizards were about? Of course they'd told him to bugger off and to never come back… but maybe they shouldn't have.

Footsteps creaked from down the hall, and he could hear heavy breathing.

Dudley was at a loss as to what he should do. Fight? Run? Cry? He didn't want to find out what their sticks were capable of.

A shiver ran down his spine. What if it was a Dementor? The thought was paralyzing. Shaking uncontrollably, he closed his eyes, and prayed he wouldn't feel the cold close around his throat.

"Dudley?"

He knew that voice. But could he trust it? Those magic folk were a tricky people.

"Dudley, why are you standing in a puddle of your own urine?"

Had he soiled himself? There was a warmth trailing down his leg, that gave him his answer. He'd hardly noticed.

He felt brave enough to peek through one of his eyes, and when he did, all thoughts of wetting himself were forgotten. _God, what happened to him?_

His cousin stood in front of him – he was sure of that now – and looked as if he'd just fought a war. His face was half-burnt, his shoulder was bent into an unnatural position, and more blood than he'd ever seen was caked onto the weird dress he was wearing.

"Did you… kill someone?" It was the first thing to leave his mouth, and he wasn't entirely sure why he asked it, or if he wanted the answer.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Are your parents home?" Harry asked, looking around the room as if expecting Vernon and Petunia to walk in at any moment. He had taken to leaning against the wall to keep himself upright. Dudley cringed upon seeing a touch of blood smear across the pristine wallpaper.

"No…"

"Good," Harry said. He turned and left the kitchen, leaving Dudley standing foolishly on his own. "Come on then, I need your help."

There wasn't much else for him to do other than follow.

Dudley found Harry in the bathroom upstairs. It wasn't all that difficult, he'd only needed to follow the trail of blood from the kitchen. How much blood has he lost? It didn't appear as if it were affecting his cousin.

"Do you have any bandages?" Harry asked. His head was burrowed into their medicine cabinet, knocking pill containers to the floor in his blind search for something.

"I do in my room… I kept some from boxing."

"You're still doing that?" Harry said, not pausing in whatever he was looking for.

Dudley nodded with a bit of pride. He was fairly good at the sport, and enjoyed it far more than his failed attempt of trying out football. In a way, boxing had changed his life.

"Alright, then we'll be doing this in your room." Harry quickly stood and pulled them into the larger of the two bedrooms once owned by Dudley. The floor was littered with dirty clothing, but Harry hardly seemed to notice the mess. Dudley found the bandages Harry had asked for under his bed after only a moment of searching. But Harry was nowhere in sight when he turned back around, and he was forced to follow the blood again. This time it was only one room over.

Harry was bent over next to the ratty old bed he had slept on for years. There was beaten trunk in front of him, that Harry was staring at as if it were a particularly difficult maths problem.

"Why… why is this here?" Harry whispered, and Dudley could barely make out what he was saying. He found himself thinking the same thing. That trunk hadn't been there this morning. When Harry left each year, his dad would make sure to clean the house of anything magic. It was impossible that something of that size would have escaped his notice for so long. "Dobby! Kreacher!"

 _What's a Dobby? What's a Kreacher?_

Two _pops_ answered him, and Dudley felt faint. Two of the strangest beings he had ever seen seemingly appeared out of thin air. They had to be monsters… aliens at least. Dressed in rags, with huge bat-like ears, and eyes the size of tennis balls, Dudley was certain he wouldn't be sleeping for a week.

"Harry Potter, sir, Dobby was so worried!"

Dudley jumped, and his head swam. _They talked… of course they talked. What is this freakishness?_ Make that two weeks.

"Master calls for Kreacher?" It was the older looking one – the one with the hunched back – that spoke this time.

"Master?" Dudley said, not being able to hold his silence any longer. "Are these… like your own servants or slaves or something?"

"No!" Harry shouted, his face set into a deep frown, just as the two aliens simultaneously said, "Yes!" Their enthusiasm felt entirely out of place for such a designation of status.

"They're my friends…" Harry said indignantly. Though he trailed off uneasily when looking at the uglier one.

It was an odd sort of group to be calling friends to be sure, but Dudley kept quiet. After all, he'd been the one who spent most of his childhood hanging out with Piers. His mum and dad never said it, but whenever Piers and the gang from Stonewall High came over, his parents looked at them in a manner similar to how he looked at the strange bald animals standing in front of his cousin.

"Dobby, do you know how my stuff got here from the castle?" Harry asked. Whatever was going on with his suddenly appearing luggage, it appeared to be bothering him. An odd mixture of hope and sadness was written across his dirtied face. Dudley was forced to look away quickly, it was too vivid a memory of how things used to be in this house.

"Harry Potter's barmy old codger told Dobby to brings your things back to this bad house before he's dies." The smaller one glared at him with such disgust that Dudley actually felt sweat build along his spine. _Definitely a monster that one,_ he thought uncomfortably.

Harry's face fell instantly. Like the darkness of a terrible storm, it clouded over him and brewed with danger. What had happened, and when did Potter get so scary? He said he'd killed someone earlier. It was hard to think of the scrawny boy he used to pick on as capable of murder. His dad had certainly thought he was, and would surely feel vindicated in his belief if he ever found out.

"Kreacher!" Harry snapped, and started picking out his trunk the strangest assortment of items he'd ever seen. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, when he started shoving them into a small leather pouch around his neck. _Was that a stuffed animal? A sack of gold? How does that fit in there? Where does it all go? That has to be damn useful_ , he though in awe. "I have an order for you, and you must follow through without exception. No loopholes, nothing. Dobby… you aren't bound to me, but I hope you can do the same."

"Dobby will do whatevers Harry Potter asks of him."

Harry smiled, but it looked pained. His entire being looked as if it were being torn in two. How could a person feel so many emotions? A thousand battles screamed in one great war that was being waged across from him. Something snapped in the air, and his cousin came to a decision, but not one he looked all too happy with.

"You are forbidden from mentioning anything about me to anyone who might ask. If they do, you will say you don't know what happened to me, that you don't feel anything from me, and you will leave them before they ask any more questions," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

"Yes Harry Potter sir, Dobby will do as he's told, though he doesn't likes lying very much."

"Kreacher is bound to serve the House of Black and his half-blood master."

"Thank you, you may leave." An invisible weight lifted from Harry's shoulders, sighing heavily as the two creatures popped out of existence. Dudley hoped they wouldn't be coming back.

"Come on Dudley, I need your help now," Harry said, while lifting up a huge black metal pot. What could that possibly be for? His answer came only moments later when Harry stacked up some of his unused textbooks as a make-shift table and sat the pot on top. "I need you to brew me a potion."

Dudley's heart fluttered. "I…you…me – what?"

"I need you to brew –"

"I heard you the first time," Dudley babbled.

This couldn't be real.

"You want _me_ to help you do _magic_?"

"I…" Harry paused. "I suppose you technically would be… so yes, I would like your help."

"Why…?" He was almost afraid to ask. This was entirely mad. He should have accepted Piers' offer to hang out, instead of choosing to try and catch up on school.

Harry raised one of his arms in the air, and he frowned. "I only have one of these right now," Harry explained, and Dudley looked to the other arm that had yet to move. "Making potions is mostly a two-handed process. And the one we're trying to make is supposed to help me re-grow my bone."

Dudley gulped.

 _Potions. Re-growing bones._

He had the sudden urge to itch his scar tissue. He'd yet to have any sort of positive experience with magic – was terrified of it in fact – and now his cousin was asking him to perform some. Was that even possible?

Crystal water, cleaner than any he'd ever seen before, came sprouting out the end of Harry's wand and into the pot. "Dudley, will you find these ingredients for me?" Harry asked, as he threw him a book.

"You can do magic…" The book hit Dudley dumbly and clattered to the ground. "I thought… the letter… you couldn't…"

"The rules don't really apply to me anymore."

Dudley nodded as if it made sense to him. It didn't. He simply did as he was told, and began assembling perhaps the most sickening ingredient list he'd ever scene. _Puffer-fish, Scarab beetles, Chinese Chomping Cabbage…_

"Why's it called Chomping Cabbage?" It looked exactly like a normal cabbage.

"Watch out for your fingers."

"What –" Dudley yelped, and pulled his fingers back just in time from the snapping green teeth that grinned back at him from the cabbage. They'd grown out of nowhere.

How had he gotten himself into this?

"You're supposed to eat all this?" Dudley asked. He couldn't imagine ingesting any one of the strange ingredients he'd collected.

"Magic changes it when making the potion – don't ask me how. Still tastes awful mind you, but it does its job well enough if done right." Harry's shirt was off, and he was rubbing a strange paste on serious looking burns on his side.

He tried his best to follow the instruction in the wrinkly old book Harry gave him; weighing, chopping, and mixing as written out. It was much more difficult than he'd expected, the ingredients jiggling, and jumping, and doing strange things in his hands. The stench was another matter altogether. His stomach had never been as strong as his jaw, and he turned to Harry to distract himself before he retched. Much to his horror, Dudley found himself staring at something far worse. Harry was performing self-surgery on his own ankle.

"What are you doing!?"

"Watch the potion Dudley!" He could hear the pain through Harry's grit teeth.

"Oops! Yeah… sorry." In the few seconds he took his eyes off his task, he'd nearly added one too many beetles. It was as if the potion wanted him to get it wrong. How did Harry's kind do this? _Two crushed Dandelions, chopped Rosemary, stir seven times, five leaves of peppermint, Puffer-fish eye…_ He listed the steps off trying to find a rhythm, and to keep his mind away from what he'd just seen. Harry tapped the cauldron and muttered some funny words under his breath every so often, which only made the whole process even harder.

"Merlin, didn't you take chemistry at school?" Harry said from the side.

Dudley's face flushed bright red. He hoped Harry couldn't see that from where he was sitting. How did his people know about chemistry? "I err… failed out of it this year," he mumbled. _Mum always told me I was made to make money, not play around with chemicals_ , he added in his mind, not daring to say it aloud.

Silence reigned awkwardly over the two of them for the next while. He'd only just managed to chop a handful of _that_ cabbage without losing a finger, and the instructions now told him to wait five minutes.

"Do you still have the ashtray Uncle Vernon kept for whenever company came over?" Harry asked and Dudley nodded. He thought he heard the words 'Ah-Choo ashtray,' but wasn't given the opportunity to think any further on it, before ducking out of the way of a whizzing piece of metal. "Don't touch that, I don't want it to spread."

Harry threw what looked to be rotten flesh into his father's ashtray, and Dudley didn't need any more reason than that to keep his distance. Fresh blood was still dripping from its dying edges, where Harry had cut them from his ankle with a knife. The bandages were definitely a good idea.

"What happened?" Dudley asked. Harry looked shocked that he cared enough to ask.

"I was attacked by Inferi, and one of them bit my ankle," Harry answered. He must have seen the confused look on Dudley's face, because he explained further. "They're magical zombies."

"You're not going to… you know… turn into one are you?" Knowing zombies were real was the scariest thing Dudley had ever heard.

Harry smirked. "It doesn't work like that. They're controlled and created by dark wizards." Without warning, he shot fire out of his wand and burnt the contents of the ashtray, causing Dudley to nearly jump out of his skin. "I'm going to need you to pour some of that alcohol for me."

Harry's ankle was a gaping wreck of a wound, weeping black tears that looked more like the ink of a pen than his own blood. Dudley felt his stomach turn just by looking at the torn flesh, while Harry gazed on completely unconcerned. _How is he not freaking out over this?_ It was as if his cousin had other matters on his mind that were far more important than missing half of his ankle. A normal person just didn't react like that. "You want me to pour _this_ on _that_ ," Dudley said, the bottle sloshed around as he waved it in the air. "Do you have any idea how much this is going to hurt?" It stung more than enough when he poured it on a small cut after a fight.

"It's either you pour this on and I scream, or I'm forced to cauterize it with my own wand and I scream longer." Harry's gaze was hard.

Oh.

"Are you ready then?" Dudley unscrewed the cap and was looking to Harry for confirmation. Harry gave him a tight nod, and Dudley thought he caught a glimpse of hesitance in his green eyes.

Half the bottle was gone, and Harry's scream certainly caught the attention of every middle-aged gossip within two kilometers. "Again…" Harry panted, picking up Dudley's pillow and shoving it in his mouth. The bubbling white foam on his wound had only just started to disperse when he poured again. The scream was muted, Harry threw up, and Dudley most definitely needed to buy a new pillow.

He thought he heard Harry say something from where he was collapsed against the wall. " _Potion_ …" Harry repeated himself in a whisper. Sure enough, when Dudley turned back to his work, the liquid was a dark purple color that the book said was time to add another beetle.

"So… uh, why did you fight those zombie things in the first place?" Dudley asked, making sure to count the number of his stirs.

"War," Harry answered. He pulled out a small glass that was filled with something as red as blood, and downed it one go. Long strips of bandages were floating in the air, and wrapping themselves tightly around his ankle. "I need to kill Voldemort."

 _Voldemort? Is that the man mum was telling dad about?_

Harry was looking at him queerly, and suddenly burst out laughing. Was he missing something? It took a long moment before his cousin regained his composure. "Sorry…" He was breathless. "It's just that you're a muggle, and his name doesn't scare you at all."

This was all too strange for Dudley. Was this some sort of wizard humour?

"I… uh, think this is done," Dudley said. A gentle smoke was continuously rising from the dark mixture. It was a good thing Dudley kept his window open, though he hoped the neighbors wouldn't get the wrong idea.

"Good. Pour me some, I've already vanished the bone."

"You can make bones disappear?" Dudley asked, passing over the cup he'd filled.

"Yeah, but it's a tricky thing to get right. I'm not sure if I got it all." Harry grimaced and coughed as he drank it all down, and for a second Dudley thought he'd made a mistake. He couldn't do magic, there was no way he got this right. Had he just poisoned Harry?

"Hey, Dudley… good job."

Relief flooded through him hearing those words. But more importantly, he felt a strange sort of pride receiving praise from Harry of all people.

Harry stood on wobbly feet and made to leave the room.

"Are you sure you're okay to do that?"

Harry eyed him strangely. Why did his cousin make him feel so small? Being bigger was something he'd always been, even through childhood. "I need to leave as soon as possible."

Dudley felt an odd sense of relief and disappointment. The sooner Harry left, the sooner he'd be clear from the funniness of his magic. But loathe as he was to admit it, he'd actually had some fun, as weird as it was. "Do you want to grab the rest of your things?" Dudley asked.

"No, I've taken all I need. Uncle Vernon can burn the rest, I'm sure he's been dreaming of that for years."

Dudley just nodded. It was true.

"Are those cookies?" Harry asked. They were back in the kitchen now.

"Yeah, mum made them before she left."

"Can I?" Dudley shrugged, Harry looked as if he deserved one. He ate the first one quickly, and finished a second even faster. Dudley stood and watched as Harry took about eight more and put them in his pockets.

"I guess this is goodbye," Harry said. He turned and stood across from him. The air was awkward as they held prolonged eye contact. They were at a distance where moving for a handshake would be strange, and an embrace was never something that would have been shared between them.

Was this the last time he would ever see Harry?

"Uh… Harry," Dudley said, breaking the silence. "Good luck." He felt like an idiot saying it, but for once it felt like it was the right thing to do.

"Thanks Dudley," Harry said with a soft smile. "I think you should tell your parents when they get home, that a long vacation would be good right about now." He twisted and disappeared without a sound.

Dudley nodded to himself, alone again in the kitchen right next to the mixed puddle of blood and urine. He would tell them exactly what happened. Reaching for the last two cookies on the counter, Dudley enjoyed them with a guilty pleasure, knowing he could blame it on Harry just as it used to be.

 **AN:**

 **Hello, and Happy Holidays to everyone! My short break is done, and it's time to get going. This was a short interlude between Arc 1 and the beginning of Arc 2. I will be looking to get 1-2 updates out a month, and to finish ABL some time in this coming year. I hope everyone is doing well, and that you enjoyed this small taste of what is to come. I'm very excited to share what I have with you.**

 **The coming POV's will remain** **Harry, but since this was an interlude I thought it would be fun to try something new. I hope I did Big D justice.**

 **As always, let me know your thoughts, because I very much appreciate your reviews. I read them all, and try to respond to as many as I can.**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 1 - Arc 2

The Black Forest

Colors and sounds flew past Harry in a blur, as the world slipped out from underneath him. The image of a dark fortress and a carved Phoenix was focused clearly in his mind. Streams of magic trailed around him, and he floated along their lazy current for what felt an eternity. Time slowed during apparition. And judging by how long he'd been hurtling through space, Harry figured his destination was much further than he'd anticipated.

There was no room for error in his travel. A single lapse of concentration, or hesitation in his destination could lead to disaster. He'd been splinched once in his life already, and did not want a repeat of the experience. Especially without anyone present to put him together again if necessary.

Images of green pastures and open countryside flashed through his mind, so vivid he could almost taste the fresh spring air, but it was not his envisioned destination. Slowly, they gave way to rocky coasts and open water, and then land again not too long after. He was flying over an endless expanse of trees, stretching beyond like a great green canvas. It was then that he could feel the beginnings of foreign magic saturate the air around him.

Before he could react, a pulse of red suddenly surrounded him in a thick haze, throbbing with life and grasping and pulling him with invisible claws. It fastened itself like a second skin, trickles of magic sticking like sweat that refused to evaporate. He felt like a caged animal – threatened and trapped with nowhere to go.

Whatever this was, it wasn't good.

Harry could feel the panic building within him, threatening his control over his apparition. Red was all he could see. He had come across some form of protection; he was sure of it. One that was powerful with magic, and forcefully guided him in a direction he instinctually knew was not pleasant.

It was as if he was being suffocated, the magic in the air choking out his senses, and his body burned with the urge to thrash its way to freedom. The limited control he had over his mind was slipping like water through his fingers.

It was only a moment that he'd glimpsed it. A seam of white light – an opening – that broke through the wall of red. He forced himself towards the light, swimming against some unseen current that threatened to swallow him whole. The pain was excruciating. Hooks and razors dug into his flesh, and it felt as if his limbs were being pulled from his body. It was dangerous magic. Not cruel. Simply uncaring. It would kill for whatever it was protecting.

His mind was weak from the pain, but he couldn't stop. No matter the resistance he forced himself to push onwards.

Slowly, the pinprick of light grew into a tunnel, and through it all, he could see a forest that stretched endlessly beyond the horizon. It was freedom. His mind was spinning, and all mental control was lost, but he knew enough to recognize his freedom. The world grew brighter just as darkness started to encroach, light beginning to play tricks on him.

Harry felt light-headed.

He thought he saw the crimson mist start to disperse, but still pushed himself further not trusting anything other than his need to escape. _Just a little further_ , _only a little bit…_

Harry closed his eyes. The last image that flashed to his mind as he came hurtling through space and time and to the world below, was a foreboding black castle growing out beyond the trees.

Grass.

Soft grass.

It was the first thing his body registered when he came to his senses. That, and the agony of the newly growing bone in his shoulder jostling in its place.

Harry's eyes gently fluttered open to the darkness around him. Low-light hung in the air in the strangest of ways, where he couldn't be sure if it was night or day. A canopy of twisted trees hung overhead to form an impermeable screen to the sky above – not a shard of light passing through it – filling the world with oppression.

Harry struggled to his feet, grunting with the shifting of his aching body. There was a wetness to his clothes, one that came from the gentle layer of dew forming on the grass underfoot. It reminded him of the early mornings at Hogwarts where the grounds were silent and its magic was only just waking.

 _Hogwarts._

He hated thinking about the castle. Hated how it was left before Fawkes flamed him away to Grimmauld Place. There was so much death. _Justin. Susan. Dumbledore…_ And how many more after he'd fled? Was Hogwarts still standing? Had the Ministry managed to hold Voldemort off? It was perhaps the most difficult decision he had ever made, not to return. But was it the right one?

Voldemort was alive. Harry was still standing. That meant his fight wasn't yet over.

Either way, he'd made his choice. You didn't get to see the consequences of your actions before you made them. You simply lived with them. Dumbledore had left him with something and now he was here. _Wherever here is…_

One thing was for certain, there was magic here. Harry could feel its faint buzz in stark contrast with the eerie silence of the dark forest. He would have thought himself inside the Forbidden Forest if it weren't for how far he travelled before his apparition was interrupted. It gave the same unsettling feeling that he was being watched, despite him knowing there wasn't a living soul for miles.

He'd considered apparating out, but doing so without knowing where exactly he was made it a risky endeavor. A destination needed an origin, and he was lacking in the latter. This was without even considering the chance of him encountering whatever protection had halted him earlier. For the moment, he was stuck.

Travelling North was his only option. It was only the colored markings he left on the trees he passed with his wand, that told him he wasn't walking in circles. Whatever magic was living in this forest had his wand spinning in circles if he used the Point-Me spell for too long. A broom would have been fantastic in helping him find his way, but Harry's Firebolt was still chained up in shed at the Quidditch pitch; and Kreacher and Dobby were unable to answer his calls. Instead, he had been left to walking on foot for endless hours with nothing but his thoughts. And that was the last thing he wanted for company.

Thoughts of death and betrayal and war were dark enough for his already fragile state, but the ever-present feeling of being stalked put him on edge.

 _There's nobody there, you're imagining things,_ he reminded himself between checks over his shoulder. _You're just paranoid._

He was safe for now; in whatever time the day had left. Night was what worried him. There was no way of knowing what would come out then.

There was a harsh chill that settled in the air sometime later, and Harry took it as a sign of the dying day. It was by chance he happened across an outcrop of rocks nestled between a series of trees that looked to have grown together through the passage of time. Protection was what he needed, and this shelter provided it.

He managed to transfigure a stick into a warm enough blanket – albeit a scratchy one – and sat eating Aunt Petunia's cookies, and stared into the branches overhead. Like dark shadowy limbs, they crossed and joined into an elaborate web. On the cusp of sleep, he couldn't help but feel something was amiss.

He dreamt of stars that evening. Soaring through the jewels of the sky with a freedom and speed beyond that of a broom. They shone so brightly that he could almost mistake them for being alive. A pair of blue-shining stars twinkled knowingly at him in the distance before burning red and vanishing. Around him, more and more were disappearing – flashing out like old lightbulbs – and sucking the life out of the world. The loss was crushing. Each disappearing light stripping beauty out of the sky, and filling him with a cold that tore at his soul. Even the brightest star in the sky faded before its time. Beside it, the full moon glowed with life and howls rang out throughout night…

Harry startled awake. Sweat slicked his panting body, and the howls of his dream echoing in the depths of his mind.

"Are you alright?"

Harry's heart stopped. His eyes darted to a shadowed figure crouched not five feet away. Was he still dreaming?

"I did not scare you, did I?"

There was a strange quality to the voice. It was definitely female, but touched by some uncommon accent. From his position curled against the rocks, it was difficult to make anything out of her face.

"How did you…?" Harry's words were hesitant, but his mind was alert and his hand was gripping the wand concealed by his side.

"Come across you?" She said, finishing off Harry's question. "This is the place I usually stay at when I come hiking in this area." She pointed to a small half-folded tent. "I came upon you when you were already sleeping. I hope this does not bother you?"

"No… no, it's fine," Harry said absentmindedly. He shuffled himself into a more upright position, though the grip on his wand did not slacken.

Something caught his nose, and looking over, Harry could see that she was hunched over a pot.

"You can have some if you want." She must have caught his gaze. "It doesn't look like you have much…"

It was true. He had nothing save his transfigured blanket and the mokeskin pouch around his neck. He must have looked an odd sight in the middle of the woods.

But so was she. These were magical woods. What was a muggle doing inside them?

"Do you come out here often?" Harry asked, accepting the soupy porridge passed over to him. It wasn't great, but edible enough.

"Yes, my family lives in a village not too far from here."

That would have been helpful had Harry known where _here_ was. The strange accent gave nothing away, and he'd look positively mental if he asked the muggle where they were.

"Isn't it – you know – a bit dangerous going out on your own?"

"Perhaps, but not for me." It was the only answer Harry would get.

"You're not going to have some?" Harry asked, leaning over to gather more of the porridge. He would take as much food as he could get at this point, regardless of its quality.

"No… I'm not terribly hungry, actually. Take the rest if you want." She said, passing him the entire pot.

She was beautiful – their close proximity granting him his first good look. Her features were razor sharp, with pale skin that almost glowed in the strange light of the forest. Shining black hair tumbled past her shoulders, and two dark orbs stared back at him. He couldn't quite place an age on her. She looked perhaps a few years older than he was, but something about her felt older than her appearance – ageless almost.

"I'm Harry, by the way," Harry introduced.

She sat silently, gazing off into the distance. "Lena," she finally said, after a prolonged pause. "So, _Harry_ , how did you end up out here alone with just a blanket?" Lena asked, starting to put her things away in a small pack.

Harry had been expecting the question.

"I came here camping with a friend, and went off one morning on my own. Wandered too far and couldn't find my way back, and now I'm here." It was a simple lie, and the best he could come up with in that moment.

She stared at him intently. "There are two of you here?"

Harry nodded. "Somewhere."

"It's not uncommon to get lost in the Black Forest… we have our fair share of dissapearances." Her voice was sharp and smooth, with an odd lyrical lilt to its edge. It was difficult to read her expression, the pits that were her eyes gave nothing away. "It's a good thing I found you then."

The Black Forest. That was where he was. He remembered hearing about it once, but the familiarity of the location was lost to him.

The air was warming around them as they left the hidden alcove, though the sun couldn't be seen beyond the trees. The forest sat in an everlasting twilight, macabre, and fitting of its name. He wasn't sure what the source of its faint illuminance was, but concluded it likely had to do with its magical nature.

Harry couldn't shake the unease that settled around him. There was something wrong with this place. It hadn't escaped his notice that he'd yet to come across any animals – not a rabbit or squirrel, or even the odd bird perched overhead in the mess of branches. Something was keeping the wildlife away, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"I'll take you back to my people, they'll know what to do. Maybe your friend will be there." Lena said, looking over her shoulder from where she was walking in front of him. They'd been travelling for quite a while at this point. She moved with a directness that hinted to her familiarity with the area. It was in the graceful way she glided over the grassy terrain and the confidence she held in her posture. Harry struggled to keep pace with her, and Lena hadn't even broken a sweat.

"I don't want to be a bother, I just need to find my way out the forest before I can get on my way again," Harry said. He was hoping that whatever village Lena was talking about was outside the range of the magic that brought him here. He needed only a moment to slip away and apparate if it was.

"What about your friend? Don't you want to find him?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine… he was the one with all the equipment after all. I'll just find him at the place we were supposed to go after this." Harry wished he was a more accomplished liar, but this would have to do for now.

"On vacation?" Lena asked. She showed no suspicion over the validity of his story. Perhaps it had something to do with the strangeness of her own sudden appearance. If you didn't want someone to be suspicious of yourself, the best way to do that was not to show it to others. Or… it was simply Harry's paranoia speaking.

"Of sorts," Harry replied.

"It's just – I don't mean any offence… but it's hard to tell how old you are." She gestured to his face. He found it a fair point to make. Very few people collected the number of scars he had, not to mention someone as young as him. "Did you not come with any family?"

"I don't have any." The answer was automatic. After so many years how could it not be? Besides, adding a hint of truth to his deception couldn't hurt. "They're dead."

"Death is lonely and cruel," Lena said, her pace slowing just a touch. The forest around them was silent save for their muffled footsteps on grass and bulging roots. "It's terrifying and the world would be better off without it."

"I don't fear death."

"That's… brave." She eyed him strangely, and had a smile he couldn't quite place.

Harry supposed it was brave in a way. Death was no stranger to him. It brought both peace and pain, and he understood its necessity in the world. What was life without death? How could you properly love if the journey you are on has no end? Isn't that what makes the little time you have so precious. His parents had faced death without hesitation, and Dumbledore had felt a peace in his last moments he could never reach in life. _If they could do it, what is there for me to fear._ There were worse things, much worse.

"I lost mine a long… long time ago." She sounded so old in that moment.

"What about your family back in the village?" Harry asked. He was interested in finding more about the strange woman in front of him.

"They're family – my brothers and sisters. Not by blood, but we are bound by it. It's the place where I belong." Lena's dark eyes were intent and filled with passion. It was the first reaction he'd picked up from her, and it drew him in.

 _A place to belong… that sounds nice._

"That's an interesting necklace you're wearing."

Harry's attention shot to his hand that had unconsciously crept up to the mokeskin pouch around his neck. "It's not – It was a gift from a… friend." His hand dropped immediately as if burnt. He didn't want to think about Fleur. The pain was too raw. It was easier just to move on, to pretend it never happened. It could only hurt him if he let it, and he refused to give it that opportunity.

Silence hung awkwardly between them for the next while. It was clear Lena had hit on a sore topic, but Harry refused to budge. He'd passed the time snacking on Aunt Petunia's cookies, as it seemed Lena had forgotten about the importance of eating. It was only the creeping chill that reopened the dialogue between them.

"I think we should stop soon," Harry called out.

"Why's that?" Lena turned back to face him from the ten or so feet she was in front of him. She was incredible. Even after a day full of walking, she continued on tirelessly and with an unnatural sense of power.

"Night's coming in, and I don't know if I can take another step without collapsing."

Lena looked him up and down, intrigued by the exhaustion he was feeling. "It's not much further if we push on." She sounded eager to keep moving.

Reluctantly Harry continued, much to the displeasure of his aching muscles. But with each passing moment, as nightfall settled upon them, Harry felt something niggle at the back of his mind. Something was wrong. The subtle warming charms he'd been casting on himself had lost their effect, and a harsh chill ran down his spine. He'd tried to fight down the paranoia that had plagued him since entering this dark forest, but it would not be shaken. It was deep in his bones and gripped his heart in its icy fingers.

There was magic in the air – thicker and heavier than it had been before. The forest was humming with power. Each blade of grass and fluttering leaf, the growing moss, and the roots sunk deep in the earth, sung an ancient song that whispered through the twilight. He'd never experienced anything like this, magic so tangible he felt as if he could reach out and touch it.

Lena was nearly a shadow hidden amongst the distant trees. He'd fallen behind again, and she was moving quicker than ever. "We need to stop!" Harry shouted. Something else was in the forest, he could _feel_ it.

In a blink, his companion was back at his side. "No. We need to keep going, we're almost at my home," she said, her dark eyes flickering around their surroundings. Was she nervous? Could a muggle feel the magic of the forest? "My people will welcome you, and it will be more comfortable than sleeping out here."

She didn't understand. It was close. "I don't mind another night. We need to get to safety."

"No!" Her teeth snapped sharply.

Harry flinched at her sudden aggressiveness. "What is wrong wi-"

A howl pierced the silent night, and echoed as if travelling through a hollow canyon.

He knew that sound.

Harry rushed over and grabbed Lena by the wrist, meaning to pull her to safety. She was cold. Ice ran through her veins. "Lena we have to move!"

Nothing he yelled spurred her into action. She was a statue – frozen in place, and as hard and heavy as granite. It was hopeless trying to pull her. She stared unblinkingly into the darkness beyond a clearing formed between bowed great oaks.

A crack of twigs could be heard just beyond the clearing. Harry could feel his heart beating wildly, and readjusted the grip on his wand.

Heavy panting was the first announcement to its presence, just before a large grey paw stepped out from cover. A low deep growl rumbled softly through the tense air. Another sound could be faintly heard, a strange hissing similar to that of a cat. It was only a second later that he realized the hissing was coming from Lena.

Harry stepped back, his wand slick with the sweat of his palm. _What the hell is going on?_

Lean and muscular, and utterly monstrous, the Werewolf let out another fierce howl. Its hackles were raised, and long, thick teeth protruded from its short snout. Eyes filled with near-human intelligence were fixed solely on Lena.

In a flash of darkness, quicker than Harry's eyes could track, Lena charged the creature in a fit of madness.

 _No… not madness. Through rage and hatred._

The werewolf snarled and met her midway. With its club-like paw it swung at her head, but she ducked under the vicious blow. She was terrifying to behold – a shadow made flesh – seemingly flickering in and out of existence. One moment she looked doomed, and the next she would slip away from its snapping jaws.

In a blind, feral rage from its failure to kill its prey, the Werewolf leaped wildly at Lena and missed, crashing into a tree and sending shards of bark into the air. Before it had the chance to recover, Lena's arm slashed upwards and tore deep bloody gouges into its hide. Strips of fur and flesh hung from her nails. Immediately she clamped onto its curved back, and her face disappeared around its neck, burrowed into its coarse hair.

A pitiful yelp ripped through the sky, as Lena tore herself from the monster. _Not a monster anymore,_ Harry noted, _a corpse_. The mighty body of the wolf slumped to the ground, black cruor pouring from the remaining half of its throat.

It was over before it even started. It was brutal.

Lena stood overtop, its life stained across her pale skin, and licked her lips with a smile. Her eyes glowed with lust. Not a carnal lust, but one for blood. It was then that he saw the gore spilling out of her mouth and the razor-sharp fangs hidden within.

With hunger in her eye, she turned and glided over to Harry.

 _Calm. Keep calm. There's a reason you're still alive._

She extended her clean hand. "Come…" The softness of her voice was off putting, and a stark contrast to the death on her face. "We're not far, and beasts roam on this foul night."

She acted as if nothing had just happened, as if she was simply Lena again and not a monster herself.

"I have no wish to become one of you," Harry said stoically. Looking at her now, he could scarce believe he didn't see her for what she was initially. Her resemblance to Sanguini was uncanny. Eyes and hair as dark as midnight, and skin near translucent. She was the very image of deadly beauty.

"You don't?" She laughed, her voice ringing high and sharp between them. A pink tongue shot out the corner of her crimson lips, lapping a trickle of blood running down the length of her nose.

Harry stepped back and freed the wand he'd kept hidden in his robes.

Lena frowned and licked her lips. "A magic user… I should have known. Your blood sings to me." Her desire was clear to see.

"Leave. Go back to your kind. I want no trouble." Harry felt his back press against a tree, and Lena closed the distance between the two of them. Her presence was overwhelming. Pressed up against him, he could feel the immense strength behind her small frame.

"I came for you," she said. Harry shivered at the feel of her freezing touch stroking his neck. "I am still young into my eternal existence, and to find a mate with such power…"

"I don't want immortality…" Harry's breath was short, and her grip was iron around his wrist.

"I was once like you. I'd lost my family, and was alone, and waited patiently for death to come claim me… but then I found salvation. I found a place where I belong and will never be forced to leave. I saw it in your eyes when you spoke earlier. Is that not what you wish for? To be wanted forever?"

There was no response on Harry's lips.

 _Is this what I really want?_

He was at her mercy.

Hot blood rushed through his veins with each pump of his heart, the feeling of his life force that much more pronounced under Lena's stare. Her eyes were monstrous and filled with savage hunger. Her offer was selfish, nothing more than a want to claim him and feast on the power he held.

Had he been a weaker person, one who hadn't fought and faced evil since a child, he might have been tempted. But this was not what he wanted.

He yearned to be loved, and to find his place of belonging. Somewhere he was wanted, and could live out his life in peace. He did not wish for a half-life that lacked any true meaning. Not like Voldemort. What would his parent's think? What would Dumbledore?

"No," he said firmly, snapping back to reality and now scrambling for an escape.

The beautiful mask on Lena's face transformed into something ugly and hateful. Whatever control she had over her primal instincts were let go, and the evil nature of what she had become took over. She would devour him over his refusal.

Long, sharp fangs dripping with the cursed blood of the werewolf flashed like daggers in the night, just as Harry's wand came aflame and burst with white hot light.

Blood and dirt filled his mouth from where he had been thrown to the earthy floor. His shoulder hurt like hell, the impact on the tender, newly grown bone sucked the air out of his lungs. He couldn't hear anything save for a persistent buzzing in his ears, and the world swam around him in nauseating waves when he opened his eyes. Pushing through the urge to retch, Harry stumbled to his feet, grasping a low-hanging branch for support. The buzzing had only gotten worse, now pounding mercilessly in his mind like drums.

Sucking in a desperate gulp of air, some of the pressure in his head receded, helping him focus. Across the clearing, mere feet from the dead Werewolf, Harry could see the smoking body of Lena. _Is she dead?_ The thought hardly mattered in that moment, as he cared more for getting away before more showed up.

Reaching into his pouch, Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulders. His new wand was burning in his hand. It had saved him. Vampires were dangerous enough foes, even more so in close quarters, and Lena was about to kill him.

Slipping down a hill and behind a large misshapen tree a good distance away from the incident, Harry stopped to catch his breath. His muscles protested every bit of moment. If he closed his eyes, he was certain he would fall asleep from exhaustion. The daylong trek through the forest sapped the energy right from him.

He twisted on the spot, grasping out at the magic in the air, and red flashed before his eyes. He let go before the pain returned and cursed under his breath. It seemed that apparating out was not an option.

The night was as silent as death outside his cloak, save the sound of his breathing. Shadows danced out in the distance, flittering between trees and over ridges like black cloaks in the wind. Out of the corner of his eyes, and every direction he turned, the darkness played with him. One moment they were there, the next they were gone.

Each step was taken with extreme caution, keeping to short grass and away from fallen leaves and branches. Careless movements would create a trail that led directly to him. The cloak would mask his presence — sight, sound, and smell — but not his effect on the outside world. He'd learnt that lesson in fifth year, when Umbridge caught his, Ron's, and Hermione's footsteps in the snow outside Hagrid's. It was powerful, but no magic was perfect.

A howl punched through the silence, halting Harry's movements. Another followed just as the first rang out again.

 _How many of them are out there?_ It was chilling. This forest was filled with nothing but monsters and death. _I knew there was something wrong with this place…_ Over the years he had learnt that his gut feeling was rarely ever wrong.

He could hear harsh, deep, snarling breaths just beyond his vicinity. Crunching grass and paws scraping across trees in their movement. There was more than one — at least three, maybe more — prowling nearby and sniffing the air, clearly searching for something. Though whether it was for him remained to be seen.

Screams of fighting could be heard in the distance, alerting Harry where to avoid. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he kept moving. He couldn't stop, not until he was out of the forest. Not until he escaped the twilight, and could feel the warmth of the sun and see its rays spilling over his skin.

A dark figure darted past him, followed quickly in pursuit by a raging beast. Harry cringed, hearing a deep gash torn into flesh by the Werewolf's claw. The vampire stood not a second later, clutching its arm that hung by a handful of sinuous tissue. They circled one another, slowly and dangerously, neither giving an inch but both hesitant to make the first move in their deadly dance.

Harry slowly stepped back, trying to keep his distance from their conflict. As if sensing something, his movement triggered a reaction.

They leaped at each other in a wild rage, the impact of their bodies sending them tumbling across the forest floor. In the darkness it was difficult to see who had taken the advantage, two bodies rolling in a violent struggle as one. But that question was answered fairly quickly. A snap of the jaws, and there was silence; and slowly the towering body of the werewolf stood tall over its kill, its muscles rippling in the low-light. This werewolf was much larger than the one Lena had killed.

Like a discarded piece of trash, it swatted the unmoving corpse with an oversized paw. Harry didn't even have a second to move away from the flying body as it slammed into his side.

He was afraid to open his eyes, and was validated when piercing yellow orbs met his. Looking down, the cloak had slipped and a single leg was poking into existence.

The silence was heart wrenching.

He'd faced a werewolf once before, and this was no less terrifying. Silver was capable of maiming or killing them, but he wasn't carrying on his person. _Maybe I could conjure some._ It was unlikely. He had never attempted it before, and Transfiguration masters were known to struggle with the transformation that was almost as difficult as gold.

For half a heartbeat — he wasn't sure where the thought came from — he considered the Killing Curse. It was a flickering thought, gone before it took form, but still it was there. He'd almost used it on Malfoy when he pleaded for death. The same curse that had stolen his parents, taken Dumbledore, and robbed him of his chance to live. It made him sick. There was a man hidden beneath the monster, one who had no control over his transformations, and could likely be innocent. Was he capable of ever using it like that? _What would it mean for my soul…?_

A snarl interrupted his thoughts. The lupine creature approached cautiously, its bestial mind likely confused about the floating limb.

He could hide behind the cloak again and try to run, but it would track him. Fighting his way out was the only option. That didn't mean he couldn't use it to his advantage.

Shuffling over to the side, Harry shot a torrent of flames at the werewolf. It stood a good few feet from where the tendrils licked the air, but still the werewolf yipped and backed away. _It doesn't like fire._ A smile spread across his face.

He pushed out more, urging it to burn further and hotter. Despite its human-like intelligence, it was still an animal, and its instincts were primal and driven by survival. Its legs were skittish, jolting forwards and backwards, as it was torn between running away and attacking its prey. Fear won out, the wall of flames spreading between them proving to be too much for its want for blood.

It was the brightest he had seen the forest, which spoke to its dark nature. The orange and red blaze was bursting with heat, sending spurts of embers to the surroundings and lighting smaller flares.

Heat and smoke choked the air, creating a thick smog through which he could barely see. It was only a blurred shadow through the fire that spurred Harry into action. Ducking his body, he moved just in time to avoid the hurtling frame of a vampire.

Spinning and putting up a shield charm, he managed to block its overhanded strike. Its milky skin glowed in the burning light, and its fangs were stretched and looking for his neck. He banished it backwards into the flames, where it let out an unholy screech while it burnt up like kindling.

In the moment he had, Harry reached deep into his mokeskin pouch and searched for the garlic necklace Luna had sent him. Sanguini had warned him this day would come, and he was ready to take every advantage he could get. He felt something strangely soft in his hand in addition to his grip on the necklace, just as a crushing blow sent him flying through the air and throwing it away.

He landed in a heap on the smoldering ground, and felt deep gashes torn through the fat of his leg. They stung worse than the alcohol Dudley poured on him, and he could feel a dark, parasitic magic seep into the wound. _Thank Merlin I wasn't bitten._

An iron grip locked painfully around his arm, nails stabbing through skin and drawing blood. It was pure instinct that saw Harry tear off a bulb of garlic and shove it deep into the vampire's open jaw.

There was a heart stopping moment where their eyes met; surprise flickering in its dead pits before turning to terror.

He knew it was meant to be effective, but what he saw was beyond anything he imagined. Like melting snow on a warm spring morning, everything the garlic touched liquefied. Tongue, teeth, lips, skin, it all dissolved. Burning Quirrell alive was gruesome… but this was nightmarish. Harry turned away, unable to stomach the soup its head had become.

It was like looking at hell come to earth. Everything was on fire. The blaze sparked out of control, catching the surrounding trees and everything in its grasp. The branches overhead were an inferno, raining spark and ash below, like the sky was on fire. Dispersed between it all were corpses, both beast and undead, brutally shredded and half-burning. There were more dead than alive, yet still they fought in a battle that would make a lesser wizard flee.

Another vampire came for him then, fresh from a kill. Harry swung the weapon like a mace, beating the creature back, not giving it a moment to attack. The vampire recoiled in pain, brushed by a portion of the garlic skin, corroding its cheek. Taking advantage of the opening, Harry animated one of the burning branches and speared it down through its chest.

It stood there unmoving, staked into the ground, when a blackened and charred werewolf slashed it out of its path. Having grown tired of the onslaught, Harry no longer cared for the humans beneath. It was life and death now… and he refused to be the one who died.

A scarlet ribbon sliced through the air and cut its hind leg off at the knee, spraying blood and sending it whimpering to the floor.

They were everywhere, and in the next moment they were not. The devastation of the battle had been even from what Harry could see, but for whatever reason the werewolves were retreating. Their movement slowed, their attacks were less vicious, and they fled in what looked to be fear contrary to their want to kill.

It was how he found himself standing on his own, amidst death and flames, surrounded by vampires.

"I offered you salvation once, do not deny us again." A voice called out, and a figure walked towards him. It took Harry a moment to recognize Lena. She wore the same muggle clothing she had when they first met, but not much else remained. An eye had been torn out, leaving a gaping black hole, and much of her hair was burnt off. It was fair to say she was no longer a beauty.

"And I told you that I had no quarrel with your kind," Harry called back. "Now look at what has happened." Harry spread his arms out in display of the carnage before them.

"The magic user speaks true. We've lost many of our brothers and sisters tonight, because of your refusal to kill him!" Another voice rang in the direction of Lena.

"Perhaps… but this one is powerful. Think of what can be done with him at our side."

"Is it worth the risk? This one has killed many tonight."

Lena stepped closer. Her one eye shone with madness as she spoke. "The beasts are weak. Their losses are as great as ours, but the cycle has ended and now they remain dormant. It is time to strike and eliminate their cursed existence."

"But what of the powerful one they hold. He is older and certainly more capable than this one," the other called back with fear in his voice.

"I know not much about the magic they use… but this one's blood sings unlike the other. How many of our coven fell? How many of those cursed beasts? Yet this one stands still." Lena took another step closer as she spoke.

Harry raised his wand. "Leave before I kill you all." There was steel in his voice and he meant every word.

"You stand alone, _Harry_." She used his name as some sort of insult. "This forest is our home, it shields and protects and feeds us power. You cannot hope to defeat us all."

Harry laughed, a thought coming to mind. _But what if you don't have a forest?_

"I suppose you truly aren't afraid of death. You are a fool to deny us again." Lena waved to the remainder of her kind.

He didn't need to kill them all by his own hand. After all, the wolves had left for a reason.

The shadows closed in around him, just as Harry slashed his wand upwards.

A burst of wind tore out the end of his wand, more powerful than he had ever casted before. Trees groaned, and roots bulged, as they were nearly pulled out from their place in the earth. The brittle and burnt out branches overhead stood no chance.

The twister snapped through them all in the blink of an eye, ripping through its intertwined layers as if it were paper.

Morning had come, and its early rays came beaming through. The world filled with warmth, and Harry had never been so relieved to see blue sky and true light. The vampires on the other hand were not.

They shrieked and cursed with smoke rising from their blistering skin. His improvised skylight caught them all within its shining range.

They fell into chaos. Some crashing to the ground in agony, tearing at their exposed flesh, while others turned to flee. In front of him, Lena was murderous and continued towards him, ignoring the strips of skin falling from her face.

It wasn't enough, Harry realized. He needed to kill them all. The sun was too low and not giving enough of its power.

He'd seen Dumbledore do this once, back in the cave overlooking the sea. If there was ever a moment for him to get it right, it was now.

 _Mutadonum Natura_ , Harry screamed. He poured every last bit of his energy into the spell, channeling his desperation and the need to defeat the evil around him.

It was on his fifth heartbeat, that a golden beam shot out his long carved wand and into the sky above. Immediately he could feel its pull on his life. He needed the sun to shine — to rise in the sky and wash the world in its light. Clouds shifted overhead, floating clearly out of the way. Each second that passed consumed him from the inside out, leaving him weaker and weaker and questioning if there would be anything left of him by the end. He fell to his knees. Nature was not something to be toyed with lightly, it was a God's game that he was playing. Despite this, and the lightness falling over his mind, he willed the radiant energy to surge towards them. Time slowed, Lena was mere inches away, but he kept faith for it to come.

And it came.

The world was fading, his whole body feeling numb, but he could see the burning yellow sun peak above the tree line.

Morning came.

Lena and her kind dispersed into ash.

Victory came.

And in his last waking moments, he reached for a small stuffed wolf sitting feet from where he lay.

 **AN:**

 **First chapter of the second arc is here. I hope you all enjoyed it. I was originally planning on putting this out on New Year's but decided against it.**

 **Thought I'd start it off with a bang, and what better way to do that than to continue with some action. Harry can't really catch a break. I'm actually pretty far ahead in my writing thanks to the time off I have over the holidays, so the next chapters shouldn't take too long to be posted.**

 **Do let me know your thoughts on this chapter and what is coming next, your reviews are always appreciated. Some BIG stuff is coming up fast, so you've got that to look forward to. Until next time.**


	21. Chapter 21

TA Wolf's Tale:

The night would have been peaceful had it not been for the incessant wailing of a child. He'd woken some time ago in a sparsely lit tent, and with a platter of meat and berries set off to his side. Paranoia screamed that the food could be poisoned, but sense told him that if whoever put them out wanted him dead, he would be.

His stomach made the decision for him in the end, cramping and groaning like a half-starved beast. Eating nothing but Petunia's cookies – as tasty as they were – and whatever slop Lena had fed him, wasn't enough to sustain him for however many days it had been since his last proper meal.

Blood gushed between his teeth, slipping over his gums and filling his mouth with its coppery taste. It was a step away from raw, but Harry wolfed it down regardless, finding it surprisingly to his liking, though its taste was the last thing on his mind, focused more on the strange place he found himself in.

A shrouded figure lay at the far end of the tent, underneath what appeared to be a bundle of furs. There was a gentle rise and fall coming from beneath the cloth, completely unbothered by the baby's shrieks that continued to ring out in the distance. _I pity the parents of that banshee._ Of all the creatures he'd had the fortune (and misfortune) of encountering, Harry had yet to meet a Banshee. Perhaps this would be his lucky day. Seamus certainly wouldn't think so. The boy always held an unnatural fear for them, to the point where it had been his boggart back in third year.

A smile slowly spread across his face, the warmth of a gentle hearth filling him pleasantly. The world was a much simpler place back then, and the memory of that defense class was one held dear by many of his classmates. It was rare to see such unity amongst students, but that day they all banded together to conquer their deepest fears. It was a powerful moment.

There was an abrupt exhale of breath and a low groaning sound, that caught Harry's attention. From beneath the pile of furs, a shock of fiery red hair peeked its way through, followed by a pale face and bushy beard that matched the mop on top.

Harry sat in silence, observing the man who had been sharing his tent. Thin white streaks ran across his face and disappeared into aged lines and beyond his rising hairline, like crisscrossing rivers chasing the others curves. They were pinched, and tight, and contrasted oddly with his pale complexion. _Scars_ , Harry realized, _old scars that will never fade._ He was a big man, broad chested like a keeper, and handsome in a rugged way despite the marks on his face.

"So you're finally up eh?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the smirking man, who straightened himself amongst the furs.

"Not that I really care, even though everyone else did. Spent more time looking after you then me, and I'm supposed to be their friend. _Bloody bastards,"_ the man huffed mostly to himself.

Harry laughed. Despite the scratchy quality of his voice, it was filled with genuine warmth, and Harry found himself liking the man.

"Maybe you should find yourself better friends," Harry said.

"Oh, I've tried trust me. Make them easy enough, but I usually scare them away in the end. So I'm stuck with this lot." He gestured with his arms, despite it only being the two of them. "Not really happy with them right now, am I? Sticking me with you."

"And what's wrong with me?"

The affable redhead eyed him keenly, as if taking his question much more serious than it was intended. _His eyes are sharp_ , Harry noted. He could feel his skin dance uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Not much, other than being too scrawny for my liking and having all those ugly scars."

Harry scoffed.

His companion shrugged. "Mine are prettier."

"Keep telling yourself that," Harry replied.

"You're good fun, kid… it's a shame I can't like you."

"Why's that?"

"It's just on principle. You don't like the guy who starts to fancy your daughter… you don't like the guy who took off your leg."

Before Harry could ask what he was talking about, the man slipped out of the rest of his furs, and waved around a stump of a leg that ended at the knee.

"I can't really blame you for doing it – I was a raging beast trying to eat you at the time – but you are the reason I'll be hopping around for the rest of my life." He wore an easy going smile, but Harry could see the pain beneath it all. Moody stomped around well enough, and was fearsome despite his injuries, but he was certain the old Auror preferred it when he had all of his limbs.

Harry could scarce remember the night he'd battled the Vampires and Werewolves. In his mind, it was a nightmarish blur of fire, and death, and blood. As sad as it was to see the man sitting before him, he didn't regret anything. He did what needed to be done under the circumstances.

"I'm –"

"Like I said, don't worry about it. Even as a beast I was always reckless, and should have known better than to charge a dangerous wizard." A companionable silence fell between them, just as a mischievous twinkle settled in his eyes, "But looking at you know, I can see why the wolf made the mistake. It probably thought you were my daughter."

Harry brushed the comment off with a laugh. "Appearances can be deceiving." He extended his hand, "Harry."

"Oh, we know all about you. The Potter boy." His grip was very firm. "Nicholas, but everyone calls me Nico."

Harry wanted to ask what they about him, but never had the chance as the Banshee struck again.

"That child is horrible. If my baby girl was like that, I would have taken her to the river, and she would have very quickly learnt to either sink or swim."

Harry cringed.

"A little too dark was it? I blame it on the wolf." He had a wide, white grin.

A gentle breeze brushed across the back of Harry's neck, and he turned to the entrance of the tent. The flaps were rustling in the wind, and between them was a small head of ginger hair and two wide staring eyes.

"Papa!"

A red bolt shot past him and up into Nico's laughing arms. "And how is my little sunshine? You've been listening to mommy today haven't you?"

"Yes…" Her forehead scrunched together cutely, and her gaze strayed from her father's.

"What is it?" Nico's voice was teasing, and he tickled his daughter lightly with his free hand.

"It's just that mommy doesn't know I'm here…" She said after her giggling settled down. Her eyes darted towards Harry and back again. "Mommy doesn't think it's safe with _him_." She tried to whisper, but it didn't work very well.

"Mommy doesn't need to worry, Harry's virtually harmless," Nico said to his daughter, shooting Harry a wink as he tapped his missing leg. "In fact, I think you could beat him up."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up with an excitement and wonder that only a child could possess. "Even when I'm not a wolf?"

"Especially when you're not a wolf." He tapped her nose cheekily.

The young girl turned to Harry then, and eyed him shyly.

"If your dad could beat me up, then I have no chance against you," Harry said. The child blushed like a tomato. _Like Ron and Ginny._ A sharp shot to his gut stole his breath away for a moment.

"Go run back to mommy, and tell her I'll be back home soon," Nico instructed his daughter, who hugged him again quickly before leaving as told.

"You're good with kids, you know." Nico shifted on his cot, and pulled himself awkwardly to his one foot. He needed to lean against a wooden table for support.

"I try to be, I didn't exactly have the happiest of childhoods," Harry found himself admitting.

Nico nodded slowly, "You've got the right attitude about you. Pay it forward, and keeping moving on no matter the shit you've gone through. Maybe I can make an exception and like you, despite making me a cripple."

"I think I'd like that."

"Good. Now I need your helping getting me something I can use to walk." He tossed Harry his wand from where it lay on the table.

It didn't take much to transfigure the platter he had eaten from into a walking stick.

"Thanks," Nico said. His eyes lingered on the wand in Harry's for a moment, before he shook his head and made to leave.

Passing through the flaps, Nico nodded to tall man neither had noticed standing there until now.

He was tall and slim, wearing a ragged brown coat. His thinning hair was pulled back, and only a few flecks of brown remained within the grey. A thick beard, as grey as his hair, covered most of his face, but not enough to hide the deep scars that were long ago torn into flesh.

There was a cautiousness to his stride, as he approached Harry. Each step was deliberately taken, and his mossy eyes stared deeply into his own.

"If there was one thing I never thought to see again, this would certainly be it." The man's voice was pleasant and familiar, like a half forgotten dream. He pulled out a small object from behind his back. It was a wolf. A small stuffed wolf.

Harry shook where he stood. _It can't be, he's dead._

"I still remember that day. I was homeless, and desperate, and half-mad from my last transformation, but for a reason beyond my understanding I remembered your birthday and gave you the only thing I could."

 _He's dead._

"I didn't dare believe that I could, but of all the people I wished to see one last time, it was you Harry. I missed you."

"Remus…"

It couldn't be, he was supposed to be gone like all the rest. Yet there he stood. He could see it now – beyond the grey and unkempt hair – his former professor and father's best friend.

He wasn't sure who had reached out to who, but they were grasping on to each other with equal amounts of desperation and disbelief. He was real. Remus was real. He could feel him. This wasn't a dream. The emotions he was feeling, the scratching of Remus' thick beard on his neck, the smell of ink and oak and grass, it couldn't all be fake.

"I saw the wolf… your body… I didn't believe it…" Remus could scarcely breathe, and Harry would have thought his voice to be the wind had it not been inches away from his ear.

"I thought you died," Harry choked.

"No… I did much worse." Remus' voice was filled with shame. He led the two of them to the cushioned bench Harry had been sleeping on before. "There were times I wished I had been. Dark, horrible times, but I lived." Remus clutched tighter to Harry, shaking, and with a grip stronger than any man should possess. "I ran, and damned I am for it." Loathing dripped from his voice, like grease from meat.

It was painful now, sharp nails digging deeply into the skin of his arms.

"I'd lost everything. I was weak. I couldn't bear it any longer."

"Stop." Harry knew he had spoken, but he wasn't sure why. Everything was thrown to chaos, up, down, side-to-side. The floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor.

"I'd disappeared before, vanished without sight, sound, or trace. I could do it again. Nobody would have to think of me again." The words poured out of Remus' mouth, in a mixture of gasps and growls. An animal was breaking through from inside, slipping through the fingers of his weakening control.

Harry fought to his feet, but still Remus held tighter than he could shake free.

"After James and Lily. Peter. My parents." They were moving backwards suddenly. Remus was pushing Harry quicker than his feet could find a grip on the earth, and his feet stumbled over themselves like that of an uncoordinated dancer. They fell into a heap, Harry trapped beneath Remus' lean, muscular body. "Sirius… I lost him twice. I couldn't handle it any longer. I'm a coward." His breath was meaty. A vicious sob tore through his throat, one that shifted into a long drawn out howl.

In that moment of raw anguish, Harry slipped the hold which had momentarily loosened. He rolled away and reached to his side.

"No! You can't leave me!" Remus had bounded back to his feet, amber glinting in his eyes, and moved after Harry.

It was too late. "Stop. Remus you must stop." Harry had his wand pointed just below his throat.

The man across from him stopped. He was crazed. But whatever he saw was enough to halt him for now.

"You don't want to kill me?" He looked terribly sickly. "After all I've done? Abandoning you. Leaving you as a child, and again when you needed me most."

There were things Harry wanted to know, questions he had long kept buried, and Remus had much to answer for.

"I've failed you how many times, and still you stand there with his face and her eyes and with a pity that could only be yours. How can you stand to see _me_ live over the rest of them?"

"Because…" Harry found his voice, "I ran too."

Remus' eyes flickered to the wand pointed at him and flinched.

"It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." The emotion he had repressed for so long was surging through him like the waves of a violent storm breaking against a cove. "All my life I've ran head first into the impossible, but this time I couldn't. Knowing the danger they are in – to leave them, turn my back on them – it felt like I was tearing myself apart." He wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for the orders he gave to Kreacher and Dobby.

Britain had fallen. Without a shadow of a doubt, he was certain of it. How could they stand without Dumbledore? They would have looked to him, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Harry Potter, but he was gone as well. A nation left on its own, subjected to the whims of a monster that was his to finfish.

 _I had him. I fought him. I failed._

"He's gone?" Remus had yet to look away from the wand in Harry's hand.

The question was clear. "He is," Harry answered.

Like a marionette cut from its strings, he collapsed to the floor a broken mess. It was strange, watching the emotions he felt, but didn't dare express. _I can't afford to stop now. I need to finish what we started – Dumbledore trusted me._

In truth, it was all he had. Without his mission – without the last glimpse Dumbledore passed into his mind – he would be lost.

"Tell me… how? How did it happen?" Tears slipped from his shattered gaze. The soft beat of their impact on the ground below, the only sound held between them.

"He came." Harry said, turning away from Remus unable to look at him any longer. There was no need to explain who _he_ was. "The school came under attack. Malfoy helped Bellatrix in." He could feel the memories bubble to the surface from the dark depths he'd sent them to. It was monster crawling back from the deep. Flashes came first – single images and scenes – but slowly, ever slowly, they joined to replay in his mind. "I found them on the map. I tried to stop them, but I was too late."

It was so painful, like a nail relentlessly being hammered into his heart. He wanted to stop. It would be easy to cease his retelling and to hide from what had come to pass. But he'd already started and couldn't stop.

"There was so much fighting. So much death." He could see Justin's twitching corpse, feel Susan's vacant gaze and her halo of red hair, smell the blood he'd taken from Alecto Carrow. "We could have won, until he came. I tried to fight him –"

"You fought Voldemort?" Remus choked, and looked Harry up and down with awe that he stood to tell the tale.

"I lost. It was Dumbledore who saved me. He didn't even have a wand." Harry's breathing was hard. There was a sudden urge to be sick at the memory. How Dumbledore stood down Voldemort unarmed – weak and frail and broken from their trip to the cave. He faced death without hesitation. Was there ever a man braver? "He sacrificed himself for me." Far off in the distance – perhaps it was a simple trick of the mind – he thought he could hear a Phoenix's lament.

"How is it you're here?" Remus said, picking himself back onto his feet.

"Fawkes took me away to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore gave me a mission."

Remus' face came alight in that moment. His posture straightened to something much more attentive, and his eyes gleamed with purpose. "So it's not over."

"No. I was on my way someplace important when I ran into some sort protection."

"This area of the forest is highly enchanted," Remus explained.

"What are they protecting?" Harry asked. The thought had come to mind countless times since he'd escaped the red haze, but his speculations were purely guesswork.

"I have not been able to find out. The most I could gather is that it has something to do with the ICW. They enforce the area tightly, and un-lethally, thankfully."

Any thought of the ICW left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth.

"Remus…" Harry paused. Their eyes met, and he held the stare in a long bout of silence, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Why are you here?"

The man said nothing. There was a hesitance about him, as if he wished to speak but something held him back. Remus looked uncomfortable.

"Sirius' death… it took a long while for it to sink in." Remus finally spoke up, and stared out into the glowing light beyond the flaps of the tent where a buzz of noise could be heard gently growing in a tired crescendo. "There were days when I still expected to see him waiting for me in the library at headquarters. I had once again grown used to his company these past years – dependant even." Remus' gaze had long disappeared into the void of time long past. "Going to Hogwarts as a child was a dream. I knew I didn't belong, that my attendance was unprecedented, but still I promised myself that I would work hard for the miracle I was given.

"Then I met your father, and Sirius… and Peter. Each of us was flawed, but together we were formidable. We were the Marauders, and we thought ourselves invincible. It was the first time I ever felt as if I belonged, and for a time I would forget what I truly was. That was until the night I'd nearly killed Severus Snape, and James for protecting him. All of a sudden, the world wasn't so clear, it wasn't ripe for our taking. We were mortal. And perhaps that was the beginning of our downfall.

"What was once unconditional love and trust, soon turned sour, with suspicion festering in the fissures of our friendship. I'd gone to treat with the Werewolves – my kind – and I could see the question in everyone's eyes: Was I the traitor? Had I finally given in to my base nature? Turned into the monster I swore I would never be?"

"But you were their friend? They knew you – that you were just as much a wizard as they were. It's only just a furry –"

"—little problem… James used to say the same. He always did have an odd sense of humour." A sad smile pulled beneath the heavy beard on Remus' scarred face. "The days were dark, Harry, as I'm sure you've heard before. We knew there was a traitor, and it was so easy to put your trust in the wrong person. Just as we learned. And Werewolves are the least trustful of the lot."

"But –"

"Your defense of us is admirable, Harry, but not done with a complete understanding." Remus had cut off his protest. "If you would follow me," Remus said, leading them out of the tent.

The night was deep and dark, well into the first hours of the day, but you couldn't tell from the activity. Great fires lit the air, casting an orange glow as far as the eye could see. Tents of a variety of sizes were set across the ground, mixed amongst well-built cabins, and haphazard wooden structures. It was a motley collection of homes to say the least.

"How many Werewolves have you met in your life, Harry?" Remus asked.

"Only you." It was the honest answer.

"And how many do you see here?"

"More than I had expected there to be." It was incredible. Everywhere he looked there were men, women, and children; old and young, walking about. It was its own civilization living in secret, away from the rest of the world.

"To be a Werewolf, is to be cursed. There is a power within you that is cruel and hungry, and fights for domination. We are a dangerous species, and people are right to fear us."

"But what about Nico?" Harry questioned, as he was led past a crowd of men huddled near a fire.

"Nico is a good friend, and one of the few who has the strength to control the power. He had attended Hogwarts, only to be bitten in his third year and have his wand snapped since he wasn't of age. However, not all individuals are like ourselves. There are the weak, the spiteful, and the passionate, who embrace their bestial nature rather than fight for their human minds. These individuals are dangerous. There was a reason I placed Nico in your tent while you were recovering. Humans don't remain humans for long in the presence of Werewolves."

Remus took Harry and led him around the perimeter of the settlement. "I always walked a tight line at Hogwarts," he said, returning to the topic at hand. "Maintaining control over my affliction was very difficult, especially around the full-moon and with me being a teenager. The lives of countless students were of more importance than the education of one child. During the war, as I was parted from my friends and spending more time with other Werewolves, I started to lose my control. And others' suspicion of me only grew as I drifted further and further from who I once was."

They stopped suddenly, a fair distance from the populated center of camp. Remus stared deeply into the cloud covered sky, grey screen over the heavens. "When I was given the news of the death of your parents…" His voice cracked as he spoke. "When I heard of Sirius' betrayal and Peter's murder… I lost myself. There was nothing left of Remus Lupin, only the wolf inside. I'd lost my whole world. The Marauders were no more. Everything that kept me sane, gave me strength, and made me who I was, was gone. There is little I remember from those years, and what I do I long to forget."

Harry remained silent, not daring to interrupt the confession he knew had long been kept hidden.

"It was Dumbledore who found me, and saved me from my despair just as he did when I was a child. An offer to serve as a professor. Though the true motivation was left unsaid. I'd gained so much, only to lose it all again."

He wasn't sure what to think. Remus had lived a difficult life, one cursed almost from the start, and it would be easy to feel pity for the man. _But what about my life?_ The thought kept bouncing around in his head. It didn't feel right to compare the trials and tribulations of other people's lives like some sort of sick competition, but still he found himself doing so.

Who had the right to complain to him? To look towards him for pity, as if he were a well of understanding and forgiveness over the hardships of life. His parents had been murdered before he could even remember them. He'd grown up in a house that hated his mere presence. He'd fought evil more times than he could count, and seen friends and family die along the way. He was the Chosen One – a child prophesized to be the only one capable of killing an immortal monster.

Not everyone is a hero. Not everyone is brave. Not everyone is given a choice in the fights they find themselves in. There is nothing clean about the way war is fought, just as there is nothing clean about the choices made in them. He sympathized with this, thought it was different for him. He was born for this.

"I knew I'd passed a point beyond return. Each passing day, I felt my resolve grow weaker," Remus started again, leading them back to the settlement, and towards a small cabin. "I left, back to where I belonged, and did the only thing I could. I convinced the Werewolves to sit out the war."

Harry's eyes shot open, and he turned back to Remus. He could hear the same baby wailing nearby, over the general chatter of the camp, and Remus smiled. "I was well liked by certain crowds, but they lacked a leader. One powerful and willing enough to stand up to Greyback – a vicious Werewolf of the worst kind, who takes pleasure turning young children… like me." Remus explained. There was a deep anger simmering in the depths of his eyes with the mention of the name. "They wanted my commitment, to be their leader, but it was something I could never give. Not while your parents and Sirius were alive."

"You stole them from Greyback?" Harry asked, still shocked. If this was true, then the greatest victory the Ministry had over Voldemort's forces was all because of one man. He remembered Tonks and Fardale discussing probable causes during one of their Hogsmeade visits, but no one had ever known. _Maybe Dumbledore did_ , Harry wondered not for the first time. But he couldn't understand why he would have kept it from him.

"Very few care for Greyback's methods. When I offered an alternative, one that would take them away from Britain, away from an impending war, many came to join. I came to the Black Forest where I knew packs from around the continent resided, and would protect us from Voldemort and Greyback."

They'd reached the front door of the cabin. From inside, Harry could hear the soft rustling of movement, but it was mostly drowned out by familiar wild crying.

"Come in," he said, a nervous smile plastered across his face.

The cabin was quaint. There was an old-fashioned kitchen tucked away in the corner, and soft cushioned furniture settled sparsely around the room. He caught sight of a doorway that led into an expanded bedroom, but his attention was mainly focused on a table set just off to the center of the house. There stood a woman he'd never seen before, and red-faced baby.

Remus coughed awkwardly, as the three of them stood and looked at each other in a strange standoff. "My wife… Isla. Isla this is Harry Potter."

The apprehension that was on her face vanished immediately and was replaced by a radiant smile. One that immediately made him feel welcome.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, after hearing Remus tell all of his stories." She passed the child off to her husband, and embraced Harry with a strength that could rival Mrs. Weasley. "That right there is our baby boy, James Sirius Lupin."

Slowly, Harry turned to Remus with a raised eyebrow and couldn't help but laugh. The man gave him a sheepish shrug in response. "Who would have thought you had it in you Moony."

What ensued could only be described as a crash course on their brief, yet fruitful marriage. From what he could remember, they'd met during the last war but Remus' reluctance to join the Werewolves had kept them apart. They'd met again upon his return, and married once they discovered Isla was pregnant, and their son had only just been born weeks ago. His wife liked to talk… a lot, and much of it passed right over his head.

He liked Isla well enough though. She made Remus happy, and that really was enough for him. She was the one who had prepared him the food he had woken up to, and went off to make him some more.

Her departure had left Harry alone with Remus and the baby, who had quietened significantly with his father present.

"Had I known I would see you again, I would have asked you to be godfather. I hope you aren't offended." Something about the way he spoke suggested it wasn't really what he wanted to say.

"No, not at all. I'm sure your son would be better suited with a godfather who's around more often than not," Harry replied.

"I…" Remus stopped, before trying again, "I don't want to pry… but I was just wanting to know what exactly Dumbledore's plan was that he passed on." His head darted around the room as he asked.

 _It was only a matter of time._ He'd seen the glimmer in Remus' eye, when he mentioned he had a mission from Dumbledore. It was so small he could have easily dismissed it, but it was there and he noticed. "I can't say. Dumbledore swore that it was to be kept between the two of us."

His answer did not seem to deter him in the slightest. The desire to be brought into the circle of trust was written plainly across his face, as was his deep want to atone for past mistakes.

"Certainly you could use some help," he led on.

"I only need to find my way to whatever the ICW is protecting," Harry said firmly, rubbing the burnt side of his jaw.

Isla was just finishing up across the room, and Remus lowered his voice. "Two wands are better than one. What would your father –"

Before Remus could finish, a soft whimper escaped the lips of his son in his arms. That moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, with only the sound of the baby and clanking dishes in the background. Remus looked down to his baby James and back to his wife.

"I'll see about finding someone to help escort you," Remus finally said, sighing, his voice touched with shame.

Harry smiled. "I promise you, I'll be fine," he said in reassurance. Though for who, he wasn't entirely sure.

"And I promise you, that if you ever need help, we'll be there. I'm a Marauder yet, and if I know you, Harry, there is certainly mischief to be had."

Harry laughed darkly, the shadows in the room growing in and closing upon them. Truer words had never been spoken.

 **AN:**

 **Back with another update. Sorry about the slight delay, I have a few chapters already written, but I've only now just gone around to do some final edits.**

 **Remus is back! He may or may not play a role later on.**

 **A bit slower of a chapter, but we're building up to something here... something big. Next chapter will be something, I'm telling ya.**

 **Let me know your thoughts by leaving reviews or PM'ing. I love hearing what you have to say, and the support I've received from you all is incredible. So thank you, and I hope this can continue until the conclusion of this story. You guys are the best!**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 3 - Arc 2

The Lonely Tower

It was an endless trek through brush, bramble and dense woodland. Little life interacted with this region of forest, with its green overgrowth choking the landscape and slowing the progress of any who dared pass through it. Sharp rises and falls in the backcountry terrain, and unseen depressions waiting in the earth like cunning predators made it a treacherous pathway. A single false step could turn an ankle or shatter a number of bones depending on where it was taken.

"Remind me again, why you were the one Remus picked to take me out here?" Harry shouted to his guide. Together they'd just crossed a lazy shallow stream, and Harry paused a moment to dry his clothing with his wand. There was no chance that he would travel with soaking socks and wet squishing feet.

"Because, even with one leg, I know this forest better than anyone," Nico called back. The man was a dozen or so feet ahead of him, and already halfway up the incline of a rising knoll. "And I'm just about the only person Remus can trust not to maul your scrawny arse… which is funny given how we met."

As boisterous as the man could be, Harry was glad for his presence. He made the gruelling journey through the near impassable forest that much more pleasant, and he felt safer with his presence. Had he set out on his own, there wasn't a chance of him finding his way through this labyrinth of green and brown. They'd crisscrossed, doubled back, and circled numerous times in their path, to the point that Harry was helplessly lost. Despite this, Nico continued on without issue, as if he were simply following a map, moving swifter on one leg and a crutch than Harry was on two.

"Who was it that took off your leg again?" For a man who said there was no hard feelings, he certainly brought up the incident more often than not.

Nico laughed. "Watch it, kid. I'm the only hope you have in finding this place."

It was true, and for that Harry held his tongue. "Do you reckon we'll get there soon?" Harry asked instead.

At the base of the hill Nico turned and stopped, before sitting himself down on a jutting stump of a fallen tree. "The forest thins up ahead, and that's as close as I can take you undetected," he grunted as he reached into his pack and pulled out a bundle of hard bread. "We can stop for some lunch, and get there mid-afternoon."

They'd been travelling since the early morning, and the thought of lunch was appealing. He'd spent nearly a week in the Werewolf colony, living with Remus' family. There was a certain normalcy about the way they lived, that appealed to Harry. At times he wondered if that was what life was like for his family, in the short time they had together. One filled with so much love. It was a painful thought, but still, he found himself happy for the life Remus found for himself.

The week had seemingly flown by. Spending hours getting to know Isla, a muggle woman who had long ago been captured and bitten by Greyback, and playing with baby James. _That baby is going to be worse than all his names put together._ Their lives were simple and peaceful in a strange sort of way.

Leaving them was more difficult than he ever would have imagined, though it was necessary. With each passing day in the cycle of the moon, the initial restraint of the Werewolves was disappearing. What was once side-ways looks of antipathy, soon turned to aggressive snaps and outright hostility. _It was never safe there to begin with, Remus told me as much._ A low burn pulsed through his forearm from a set of shallow stabs where one man had dug his sharpened nails after Harry took his spot around a fire.

Remus dealt with the aggressor before he could do any worse in retaliation, but lines were drawn after the incident. Harry wouldn't stand being pushed around, and the wolves didn't appreciate having a human in their midst. The camp was tense, and Harry knew his presence was causing Remus undue problems.

 _The full moon is approaching anyway,_ Harry thought to himself, while taking the bread from Nico. He didn't feel any bitterness over being forced out. He had a job to do, and staying with Remus would have been impossible in the long run.

Harry used his wand to enlarge the small amount of bread that Isla had passed on to them. It was a handy charm, one Remus taught him days earlier, and something he regularly used to help feed the colony. He tore a smaller chunk off and passed it to Nico, keeping the larger for himself. _Merlin knows how long it'll be before I find food again._

Nico took his bread silently, staring all the while at Harry's wand with a frown on his face.

"When was the last time you used magic?" Harry asked gently.

The man across from him jerked to attention, and flushed to match his hair. "It's… been a while. Since I was thirteen. I don't really think about it…" his voice trailed off in a mumble.

"You didn't try to get another wand?"

"My parents did for years," Nico said, sighing, and tearing a chunk out of his bread rather savagely, "but the Ministry wouldn't allow it. Went straight to Minister Jenkins they did, but she wouldn't budge either. Headmaster Dumbledore argued for me as well, but the Governors didn't listen. He brought textbooks to my house one day, so my parents could tutor me in theory… I think he felt sorry for me. I heard that he passed, I'm sorry, he was a good man."

Harry nodded sadly. "He was. One of the best I knew."

They ate in silence, melancholy hanging heavily in the air, their minds lost to past memories. Streams of broken light broke through the trees, warming them in their golden glow.

"Hufflepuff." Nico said suddenly. "I was a Hufflepuff when I went to Hogwarts. Best years of my life those three were." He spoke calmly, his eyes closed, with a smile on his face. "I was a right little rascal back then, looking for mischief more often than I was learning."

"Sounds a bit like my dad," Harry said, kicking a stone and listening to it rustle through the grass and plop into a hidden stream.

"So I've heard. Slip Remus just a tiny bit of some whiskey and he'll go on for hours about him and the Marauders." Nico burst into a great bought of laughter. "I think I would have fit right in with that lot. My favorite thing to do was tell kids I knew where to find the kitchens, then I'd lead them to those barrels in front of our common room and give them the wrong password. Watching them get soaked in vinegar – eyes all wide and shrieking in surprise – it never got old." Nico's eyes were watering from laughter… though perhaps it was something else entirely. It wasn't his place to ask.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?" The question was much more important to Harry than it should have been. Nothing went together with Hogwarts like Quidditch did. Inn his mind it did, anyway.

"You bet your bloody arse I did!" He roared in delight. "Best Keeper Hufflepuff House has ever seen… at least for the two games I played in third year."

 _I knew it._ Harry couldn't help but feel a shot of satisfaction for seeing it immediately when he'd woken in the tent.

"It's probably the thing I miss most." Nico continued, and finished his last scrap of bread. "Even without my wand, I could still fly when I was stuck at home."

"You don't have any back at the village?"

He shook his head. "They cost too damn much, even the old Shooting Stars. I wasn't able to keep my old Nimbus either… parents died in the war and we lost the house." He shrugged and stood with the help of his crutch. "Time to get moving, I think. Even I can't make my way back through the forest very well in the dark."

The remainder of their journey was quiet, and similar to what it had been like before their break. They slipped down slopes, climbed up ridges, and wound their way deeper and deeper into the heart forest. At one point it had gotten so thick that they could hardly see beyond the trees immediately in front of them, each step _cracking_ undergrowth and _snapping_ the shifting wall of leaves and branches, yet Nico led them onward. After crawling through a narrow pass lined by some of the prickliest bushes Harry had ever encountered, they finally broke free and reached the clearing Nico had mentioned earlier. It was with great relief, as Harry had grown tired with the constant whipping of greenery in his face

The sun was slowly beginning its descent overhead, stretching their shadows, but the sky remained clear and blue. Nico looked unconcerned, fully confident in his ability to get back in time. "Just ahead is where they start to monitor. I'd imagine what you're looking for is only a half-hour further in," he said, and turned to face Harry fully.

They looked each other up and down for a moment, only the gentle whistling of the wind through the trees between them.

"Listen kid, surprisingly, I like you. So whatever it is you're doing, don't get caught and don't die." It was said with a blunt honesty he had come to associate with Nico.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of times I've been told something similar to that," Harry replied with a smirk.

"How's that been working out for you?" Nico said knowingly, though there was a touch of sadness to it.

"I'm not dead yet."

His friend simply shook his head.

"One last thing." Harry turned back to his guide who had spoken. "Don't keep going around taking legs off of innocent handsome men, alright? It's rude." He saluted with that last bit of wisdom, and disappeared silently into the Black Forest, its arms swallowing him in their eerie embrace.

 _He's always going to hold that over me, isn't he?_

There was an odd sort of anticipation that clung to him now that he was alone. Like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and readying himself to step off. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, heightening his senses, and making him acutely aware of all that was around him. It was only him standing in the wide clearing, but there was also magic. He could feel it. If he were to guess, he would say it was the same as the magic behind the red haze that stranding him in the forest in the first place.

Reaching into his mokeskin pouch, his fingers brushed across a wooden box. It was the one Dumbledore passed on to him before his death. The temptation to open it had long been present, but he wanted to wait until he was someplace secure. Instead, he pulled out his invisibility cloak. Only the unknown lay ahead of him, and the cloak was his best defense.

Each step came with a worry. What are they protecting? What if they found him? What was he to do when he got there? The only certainties he held, were the importance of the mission ahead of him, and that he was looking for a black fortress.

Sneaking through the forest under his cloak, reminded him of when he had done the same in his fourth year. Following Hagrid and Maxime on their queer idea of a date. He likely would have been lost in hysterics had he not been so incredibly nervous. They'd found dragons that night, equally beautiful and horrible fire-breathing lizards. Was he to find something as terrifying this time around? That trip helped save his life, and he could only wish that this one would so as well.

Making his way around an obstruction of fallen trees, that looked remarkably like a family of sleeping giants, Harry was brought up short by the sound of voices. They were muffled, but enough to still him. Eventually he saw them, green-robed, and emerging from a broken treeline. They were young – a man and a woman – and walked cautiously with their wands out.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Harry could finally make out, as the man spoke. He had an accent he'd never heard before, his words leaving his mouth with a romantic lilt that better belonged to a song.

"They reported catching sight of two figures approaching some time ago," the woman responded. Her accent was French, like… Harry shook his head clear. "It is proper procedure," she sounded tired, but remained alert.

Safe underneath his cloak, the two passed by. The man was well built and fairly short, though dark and handsome as well, while the woman was only a touch taller with a severe looking face and tightly pulled red hair. His blood was thundering against his skull, peaking with anxiety over their close proximity to his hidden position.

"We already talked to the man, he said he came wandering alone." Despite being the only two in such a large area, the man was encroaching the woman's space. "A cripple, I wonder how that happened," he scoffed.

"Likely in some fight," she said, taking a step away from her partner and consequently closer to Harry, "which is why we shouldn't trust him. They said there were two."

She muttered a spell underneath her breath, and Harry's heart nearly stopped. A light blue pulse came out the end of her wand, and like a ripple on a lake it slowly extended outwards. It passed through Harry, and he gripped his wand in anticipation. Five heartbeats of silence passed. Then ten. Fifteen. The woman held still, her ear turned keenly toward her wand. She waited, and waited, and… nothing.

Harry nearly dropped in relief.

"We keep searching, I still think someone else is here," she said, her eyes passed right over Harry as she roved the area. The man sighed, and Harry caught his fingers fidgeting with a small blue stone pinned just underneath the collar of his uniform. The woman had one as well.

Both of them had moved a fair distance away from Harry before he dared take a step. If they were searching for him, others would be as well.

Some time had passed before he reached the treeline the pair emerged from earlier. The sun was gradually setting, stealing light from the dying day, and throwing purples, pinks, oranges, and reds across the sky. _I need to get there before it's dark_. The light of a fire or from the tip of his wand would surely give away his presence in the night.

Picking up his pace, he carried himself up a slope and to the top of a growing ridge, where he stopped and stared in awe. There, just beyond the tree tops, was a black stone tower extending up into the heavens, a grasping hand trying to touch the clouds. Sprinting downhill, being sure to keep a tight grip around his cloak, he broke through the trees and fully took in the sight in front of him. The fortress stretched as far as he could see, built with sharp edges and bulky blocks that made it formidable in every aspect. It rose out of the ground like the shell of some earthen monster, pulsing with a power that seemed to give it life.

Keeping watch for any other guards, Harry approached its main gate where a long stone path pierced through the forest. _What is this place?_ A shiver snaked its way down his spine.

Blues and violets and a deep dark green danced in front of his eyes, a shimmering glow that reflected the sunset off of inky black stone like colored glass. Above the entrance stood a large stone arch. Carved into it was an inscription, but it had been defaced to the point that he could easier read the graffiti then the original text. A smaller sign stood next to it, simply saying 'International Confederation of Wizards – Authorized Personnel of the I.C.W. Only.'

Stepping beyond, Harry felt a wave of magic run over him. But again, nothing happened.

He continued his way into an open courtyard that served as a junction for four other paths. In the center stood a magical fountain, tiered like a wedding cake, depicting some sort of magical utopian society. At the top sat a strange symbol he had seen somewhere before, a circle within a triangle with a line through the middle. Two wizards and two witches stood proudly at the corners, their wands raised high in the air and shooting out water. _This is all better suited to a palace_ , he thought to himself.

"Do you know if they found anything?" Harry heard a voice over the splashing water.

"Nothing. Seems like the Werewolf was telling the truth and only came on his own. Annabelle made sure to check well past the boundaries, Andres was complaining about it when he got back."

From a tunnel on the right, two wizards came walking up the path in the green robes he'd come to associate with the ICW.

"Andres complains about everything. He still trying to get into her pants?" One asked with a deep laugh.

"When is he not?" The other chuckled. "I don't know if I should be telling you this… but Annabelle's lost it with him. Stopped doing rounds inside together weeks ago."

The other was clearly shocked by this, but grossly interested in the gossip all the same. "The higher-ups don't know?"

"Keeping it from them apparently. She's desperate for a clean record, anything on there can stop her from rising high."

"Bloody woman's terrifying." They both moved to a guard's post in front of a set of great iron gates that led deeper into the fortress. "Let her do what she wants, as long as it doesn't affect us."

Darkness was encroaching fast at this point, and it didn't seem likely that the guards would move anytime soon. In fact, it looked as if they were settling in for a long shift. Even if he managed to slip by, there was still the magically locked gate he didn't know how to pass.

Dumbledore's memory was all he had. _East, I need to head East_. The path to the right, where the men had just come from, was the closest he could get.

The tunnel was dark, lined only with torches, twisting deep underground into a subterranean maze. Smaller tunnels and doorways branched off the main path, and Harry found himself wondering how someone could possibly navigate their way through the castle _._ There was far too much to keep track of, planned as if it was purposefully meant to trick those who wandered its halls.

His Point-Me spell was his guide, grounding him with a sense of direction, and serving as a reference for the path that lay ahead. Climbing up and down staircases, and crossing bridges over dark forbidding waters, he was led further and further east.

Eventually he exited a postern gate, that left him outside the perimeter wall. With his wand out, he followed the inky stone, that blended with the now settled darkness. Only the faint light of a crescent moon overhead lit his path.

He travelled for what felt an eternity. A chill from a nightly breeze battled with the warming charm he'd applied on himself. There was little to do but keep walking.

A dark splotch could be seen just ahead of him, and a jolt of excitement shot through his system. It grew in size as he approached, the shape shifting into the definitive figure of a man. It was a statue. The details of his features were shadowed in the night, but still he could tell that whoever was immortalized in the art was young and proud. Surprisingly, it remained mostly untouched compared to other statues he'd seen that were severely vandalized or broken to pieces.

Pointedly, he stepped behind the statue and towards the towering walls. His hand brushed the surface, finding it to be smooth like glass as his fingers glided across the seamless stone.

It was rough, jagged, and a stark contrast to all that surrounded it. He knew he'd found it. The outline of the phoenix.

"Live and love," he whispered, instinctively knowing what to say. From beneath his touch, the brick disappeared, and out of thin air a doorway formed before his eyes.

The staircase inside was steep and winding, the air dank, and the walls glistening with droplets of condensation sticking to its exterior. It truly was the point of no return. As the bricks reformed behind him, closing the passage, all sound left the room. Only his shallow breaths and the scuffing of shoes on stone accompanied him.

Each step took him higher, though how far he wasn't sure – magic could be funny like that.

For a moment, the grim darkness and the close-packed space reminded him of the cupboard he'd slept in long ago. And for those few heartbeats, he felt a sudden and frightening vulnerability; one he hadn't felt in years, and swore to forget.

His mind and body were no longer working in tandem. His body wanting to continue its climb, while his head protested against it. Part of him wanted to fulfill his mission, the other wished to run away back to Remus' camp, and the rest was content with standing where he was.

 _Is the castle doing this to me?_

If it was, it was the strangest enchantment he'd ever come across. But surely, it must have been the cause. There was something stirring in the air, foreign to the emptiness he'd felt before. It weighed on him like lead, prodding at his fears and insecurities like a child with a stick. It was incredible, in a dangerous sort of way.

The next step was a struggle, the one after even more so, but he forced himself onwards. The pressure was enormous, building, and pushing against the strength of his will. Until suddenly it popped. It vanished, and all was as it once had been.

Looking around, he saw that he'd reached the upper landing of the passageway, and cautiously he slipped through the hidden doorway. It opened into a dim corridor, lit be a row of torches on either side, their tendrils silently licking the air. Still wrapped under his cloak, he followed the hall. Just ahead, he spotted a set of metal bars built into the wall, stretching from floor to ceiling.

It was a cell.

Inside, huddled under a paper-thin blanket and lying on a mattress even the Dursley's wouldn't have given him, was a woman. At least he thought it was a woman, despite her looking more like a corpse than anything remotely living. The only indication of her being alive, was the shaking rise and fall of her chest, that threatened to be snuffed out at any moment. _Death would be a mercy._

There were more cells. They ran along his right side, three steps separating each. Was this a prison? It must be, he realized. _Why did Dumbledore send me to an ICW prison?_

More and more prisoners were inside, each as emaciated and sickly and on the brink of death as the first. Some likely were already dead, judging by the putrid stench of rot and decay that overwhelmed his senses. Some were mumbling underneath their breaths, so quiet it was difficult to tell if it was done in madness or in another language. This was no way for anyone to live. The thought of his old cupboard came to mind again.

 _Is this what Sirius went through in Azkaban?_

There were no Dementors patrolling, he'd made sure to check several times by now. But still, the conditions were inhumane. The prisoners were better off dead. If this was anything like Azkaban, then it was no wonder the prisoners went insane. Harry only felt a stronger sense of pride for his godfather. To come back from this – to survive this – it was remakable.

The cells extended on for rows and rows. Each inmate was as comatose as the next. He'd worried that some might have made a commotion and drew attention to their cell, but he was invisible. If they had noticed anything, they would sooner pass it off for madness or the frailty of their minds.

He made it past the cell block, and continued upwards, drawn in that direction. It was as if he could feel the presence of another – stronger and brighter, like a beacon in the dark. The closer he drew, the more powerful it felt.

A sudden soft _crack_ stopped him immediately. Directly in front of him, some dozen feet off, in the space of an open landing, a woman appeared. Annabelle, the red-headed witch he'd encountered earlier in the forest. She stood, gripping the blue stone pinned to her collar and started walking in his direction, completely unaware of his presence.

There was nowhere for him to go. The corridor was too narrow for him to slip past unnoticed, and she would inevitably walk into him. If he turned to leave in the opposite direction, he would likely make a noise and give himself away.

It left him only with one option. There was no time to think, only act.

When she was only steps away, he slipped his wand through the folds of his invisibility cloak and cast a silent stunning spell. The red light flashed brilliantly in the darkness, speeding towards his target, but quicker than he could believe, the spell splashed harmlessly against a shield.

Having lost his advantage, Harry whipped the invisibility cloak off his shoulders, allowing himself to move without its restrictions.

She stood frozen, clearly in shock, staring at him. He could only imagine what the witch was thinking, seeing him suddenly appear right in front of her. In the blink of an eye, instinct kicked in, and Harry found himself shielding against a barrage of spells.

She was formidable. Elegant in form, darting in and out with impactful spells filled both with power and precision, he was hard pressed to keep up. From the end of her wand, a long fiery whip snapped through the air, biting the space where his head had only just been. _No second chances, I see how it is._ As it came around again, this time aimed at his torso, Harry twisted his body to the side. Using the whip left her vulnerable and he planned on taking that advantage, even if he was to be hurt in the process.

A quick cutting curse left his wand and was directed towards her neck, forcing her to drop the whip to protect herself. It was done barely in time, the shield blocking the most lethal portion of the spell, but she was caught in the shoulder cutting both material and flesh. Harry grit his teeth as the remnants of her flame burnt just under his ribs.

They stood across from each other in a pause, breathing heavily, and gripping their wounds. Her dark eyes assessed him critically, waiting for any hint of movement from him.

Harry was calm, and a smile slowly creeped across his lips, the familiar thrill of battle rushing over him. Perhaps, he might have once been frightened by the woman in front of him, but no longer. He'd faced worse, much worse in recent weeks. There was little this woman could do in comparison to Voldemort. _I've fought the devil himself._

As if sensing his cavalier confidence, the witch was much more defensive – something she was clearly not used to, her stance awkward in her unsettled state. Giving him one last long look, she reached to her collar, only for her eyes to widen in panic. Her hand groped blindly, not finding whatever it was she was looking for. Quickly, her attention darted to a scrap of cloth lying to the side, the one Harry's curse had cut off. Attached to it was the small blue stone.

Harry summoned it to his hand before she had the chance to react. Whatever it was, she clearly wanted it.

Beads of sweat slid down her temple, and she swiped at them angrily with her sleeve. _She's worried_ , he realized, _I'm a lot scarier on my own_. She raised her wand to her mouth and made to shout, but thinking quickly he cast the _Muffliato_ charm. Her amplified voice called for help, and echoed violently against the cold stone walls. His ears rang ringing painfully, but he knew nobody else had heard.

There was a renewed confidence to her spell casting, forcing Harry back on the defensive but taking care not to overextend herself in her efforts to subdue him. _She's stalling for time._ Harry laughed out loud. Gradually, he could see the dawning realization that nobody was coming to help her set in. Her movements were hesitant, second guessing every feint and twitch and shift. He was the one in control, the one who always had the upper hand, and now she knew it.

Harry didn't want to kill her – she'd done nothing wrong. It was him who had broken the law in the first place. _She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time._ However, subduing her without any lasting damage would prove to be difficult.

He had an idea – a trick in truth – and prayed that it would work.

Reaching around his neck with one hand, his fingers opened the mokeskin pouch. With his next spell, he summoned a cluster of Peruvian Darkness Powder that was gifted to him at the beginning of the year by the twins. The black granule shot out like a rocket, colliding with the ceiling and filling the hall with its impermeable darkness. Through the screen, he could hear the French witch curse out loud as she tried numerous spells to counter its affects.

" _Post Tenebras Lux."_

The reversal spell was his key, clearing his vision, and winning him the duel. There was a flash of red, and unlike last time, it hit true. Slumped to the ground and unconscious, he was left to figure out what to do with the guard.

She'd seen his face. It was a fact he couldn't ignore. And the list of solutions for that problem were short. He wouldn't kill her. He wouldn't become a murderer. He could Obliviate her. He'd seen the spell performed, but never attempted it himself, and to gamble with someone's mind… it was wrong.

Floating her fallen form beside him, and covering it with his invisibility cloak, he was left with taking her wherever he was headed.

Again, he could feel the presence from before draw him in like a moth to a flame. It led him up and up, through dark sloping passages and to a final spiralling staircase that felt like it went on for forever. It was slow going and difficult, trying to navigate the narrow tower without crashing his new hostage into the walls.

He could hear something now, floating across the still air from a point not too far ahead. It was a pleasant tune, folksy and foreign, not something he'd ever heard played on the Wizarding Wireless or leave the drunken lips of patrons of The Three Broomsticks. There were no words, but he thought it was better suited that way.

The top of the staircase led to a short corridor with a single, small cell sitting at its end. His footsteps reverberated loudly within the hollow tower, filling his ears, and the low-light of the flickering torches only added to the eerie feeling that filled the room. The singing was loud and clear, and the presence was overwhelming.

He stood in front of a row red rusted bars, and looked into the locked space. Beneath a small window, sitting on a hard lumpy bed was a man. A prisoner unlike any of the others – awake, and singing, and smiling.

His hair was stringy and blonde, a greasy mess that fell over an aged and horribly wrinkled face. Beneath it all, he might have once been handsome. He was frail, but not sickly like the other prisoners he'd seen. The only feature untouched by the cruel passage of time, were his grey-blue eyes, that seemed to stare right through Harry.

"So that's what I've come to look like over these long years," his voice was soft.

He wasn't sure what caused it, but slowly everything started to fall into place around him. But one thing held him back. Why would Dumbledore send him here of all places? To him?

 _Surely this can't be –_

"Gellert Grindelwald, Mr. Potter, I welcome you to Nurmengard."

 **AN:**

 **Oh boy. I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know your thoughts on anything and everything... especially after this.**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 4 - Arc 2 - Freedom

The last echoes of a weighted mass crashing onto stone reverberated around the sparse chamber. It spoke to his scattered mind, that he only realized the source moments later – pale fingers poking beyond the loose folds of his cloak. His eyes had yet to leave the piercing grey-blue ones that were laughing in his face.

"No… no… this is wrong."

 _This… this can't be what he was leading me too._ Everything around him was dark, and growing darker still. It was as if the very light and hope of the world was being sucked out, leaving only an empty husk behind. He'd held on for so long, fighting, and grasping to the idea that all was not lost – that something great lay beyond. _Dumbledore's last plan led me to him…_ The ground beneath his feet was shaking, the foundation of all that he'd built up was crumbling to pieces. "This can't be it! _You_ can't be it! He can't have died only to send me here!" Harry was shouting, his mind lost in a void of despair and crushing defeat. There was an aching pain in his chest, forces beyond nature pulling him apart in a way that made him want to scream.

He still remembered the long hours spent in the fourth floor classroom that housed History of Magic. The low, monotonous, and whispering voice of the old ghost Cuthbert Binns could still be heard filtering through the dark depths of his memory. He'd ignored much, and forgotten even more of the curriculum. Goblin rebellions, troll uprisings, old ministry bills and treaties long broken, none of it mattered to him. He wasn't alone in this line of thinking either, with the class notoriously being used as a free study period or a time to catch up on sleep. However, even to this day, he could recall a single lecture where despite the tired hanging of his eyelids, he sat in rapt attention.

Every word, every description, and every detail of that lecture was imprinted on his memory. Like a pensieve it replayed in his mind. 'The Horrors of Grindelwald,' he'd called it, floating behind his desk in his usual position. That alone caught the attention of every student in the room – eye's blinking, back's straightening on chairs, and fingers pinching skin. From there he delved into the cruelty of his campaign, and the atrocities committed for his quest towards the 'Greater Good'. For once, the ghostly voice of Binns did not dull the senses, but instead enhanced the harrowing reality of the devestation that followed. They never reached the story of his downfall – only knowing that it involved Headmaster Dumbledore, and gave birth to his legend. Groans of protestation met the dismissal for lunch, and for once students were reluctant to leave as opposed to their usual hurried scramble to the exit.

Not a quill could be heard scratching against parchment at the beginning of the next lecture. Students had lined up near twenty minutes early, jittering with eagerness, not wanting to miss a second of what was to come next. You would hardly believe it was a History of Magic class when walking past. Binns floated in, perhaps a touch late – it certainly felt that way – and every breath in the room was held with such tight anticipation it threatened to burst. Only for it to deflate like a lame balloon when he introduced the war between Ragnok the Third and Galdboral the Mighty that nearly split the goblin nation. All talk of Grindelwald was forgotten, a leaf blown away in the wind.

To this day, he was unsure what spurred Binns that afternoon, but he would never forget what he heard. Now he found himself standing in front of the cause of it all. A man who brought an entire continent into a war that spilt enough blood to fill an ocean. And Dumbledore sent him here.

Through the madness that threatened to overtake him, Harry could see the humour vanish from the old and cracked face across the bars. "Albus is dead?" he asked.

"Yes." It was all Harry could force out.

Grindelwald sat unmoving. It was almost disconcerting seeing a man remain so still. _Perhaps he's rotted here so long he can't move._

"Strange… to know that it was coming, but still I feel sadness." His voice hung in the dead air.

"You have no right feel anything about him!" Something snapped inside Harry. His outburst elicited no reaction, the old man remained a mask of stone. That only served to anger him more.

"No right?" A wrinkled hand rose to pass through tangled hair. "I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that you are mistaken. I have more right than anyone… even that brother of his."

Harry's grip tightened around his wand.

"You wear your emotions like armour, Albus did warn me."

"Don't say his name!"

"And why is that?"

"He fought you. He defeated you. He locked you in here."

Grindelwald smiled. His grey lips gently creeped upwards in some secret satisfaction. "That he did… just as the whole world knows it to be. You know of our great duel, a battle of such magnitude that the ground was said to shake across the ocean and in the Americas. A fight between good and evil, and a tale that can be found on the back of candy cards. Truth lies beyond the lines of legend, and the best secrets are always buried. Mr. Potter, you claim to know much about Albus Dumbledore… but did you know that he loved me?"

The air was sucked out of the room, and Harry found himself struggling to breath, his lungs heaving and coming up empty. He was shaking. Beads of sweat could be felt building along his temples and along the length of his spine, and his stomach was rocking like a ship in a storm.

Three words. _He loved me_. Three words was all it took to flip his world on its head. Those grey-blue eyes danced in front of his own, taunting him with perverse pleasure over knowledge he did not have.

 _He loved me._

Months had gone by since he'd spent Christmas with Dumbledore, but he still remembered his words. ' _I had loved once… I suppose_ _I still do…_ _We figured we were invincible, and soon our dreams got the better of us.'_

"It was you," Harry said.

"Love is rarely ever simple," Grindelwald shook his head as he spoke. It was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. "It is a complex thing. Beautiful, horrible, and unexpected. At least, that's what Albus would always say."

"He said it ended in tragedy." Harry looked around the drafty old cell, bare and devoid of any warmth.

"We both made our choices. Destiny is cruel, and our fates were unavoidable. Perhaps in another life it would have been different."

"He told me once that there is always hope," Harry spoke slowly.

From his position on the floor, Grindelwald shifted. His head lifted, wisps of hair falling across his visage, and his gaze returned to Harry's. Something passed between them in that moment – a feeling beyond mere words.

"He always was an optimist."

Before anything else could be said, the shifting of cloth and a low pained moan drew their attention to a seemingly empty spot on the ground. A ripple ran through the air, and an arm could be seen slowly growing out of space. Beneath his invisibility cloak, the guard was coming to.

Again, he was struck with indecision over what he should do, and lifting the cloak did not make it any easier. The red hair she'd previously pulled tightly into a bun, now had loose tendrils tumbling past her face and down her slender neck. The severe look she wore had vanished, replaced by a tranquil contentment.

"I can't kill her." Harry wasn't sure why he chose to speak aloud.

"No you cannot. Her absence would be noted, and the prison will be shut down."

His stomach constricted upon itself, forming a tight ball of contempt. He knew what that meant. Storing the cloak in his robes, Harry gently lifted the unconscious guard and bound her with a flick of his wand. From behind him, he could feel Grindelwald shift to attention.

" _Rennervate._ "

Bleary eyes slowly blinked open, drifting across the room before suddenly sparking to attention. "You." She spat. Her accent was thick in her anger, and the severe look once again adorned her face. "How did you get here?" It spoke to her character, not backing down despite the situation she found herself in.

 _Does she want to know how I got in?_ It wasn't as if he'd come up with some sort of plan, other than to follow what Dumbledore left behind. "I just… sort of walked in," he replied and laughed, not being able to hold back the bubble of hysteria that burst from his throat. _Or does she want to know how I got here?_ _Because we might need the entire night to tell that story._ It was as unbelievable as the rest of them, but this time he found himself in front of another Dark Lord.

She spat at his feet, her gaze filled with contempt. Clearly she did not believe him, and failed to see any sort of humour in the situation. _Don't worry about it, love,_ he thought, _you wouldn't laugh if I told you anyway._

"The cloak." Harry turned back to Grindelwald, who had spoken the word almost reverently. "You used the cloak didn't you?" His gaze was unnerving. It pierced like a hawk and was so intense he thought it might burn a hole through him. "Yes, you did…" he continued before Harry could answer, "Incredible."

"Do you even know where you are? Who this man is? What he has done?"

Harry didn't answer the French witch. Her voice was a branch scratching at the window, out of mind and ignored. Instead, his attention focused on what Grindelwald said about his cloak. "What is so incredible about it?"

The man grinned with his teeth. "Oh, there is much for you to learn."

"You are here for him? This… this… _connasse_! I will not let you free him! I will not!"

"Free me? Now isn't that an idea, _ma belle_." He whispered, mimicking her immaculate Parisian accent. Everything about the man changed in an instant. There had always been hints of power and danger about him, even dressed in rags in the corner of a cell, but now he was simply predatory. Years peeled away from his aged form, unveiling the fruit of the terrifying young revolutionary hidden beneath. "I've come to forget the feeling of grass beneath my toes and the touch of wind and rain. There is something to be said about the freedom of nature and how it makes us feel human. Am I even human anymore? I do often wonder. Men called me monster once, for a dream born out of youthful fancy, and a future I believed in. Perhaps they were right. The years have been long, and afforded me time to think of the past and what could have been. The weak rise, the mighty fall, power corrupts, and freedom reigns – but not for all. With age comes sight, and it could be I deserved my fate, but freedom is something a man never forgets. A monster I may be, but I will be human again."

Even a shell of the man he once was, wasted away after decades in this tower, his authority still reigned supreme. He spoke with a smoothness that made you want to listen, each word carefully placed after the next. It was natural, the way he played with the tempo of dialogue, stringing you along its captivating rhythm. _The tongue of the devil._ It was easy to see how he garnered so much power.

"You won't be able to escape." Her expression was defiant, and she was staring at Harry now.

"I'm sure I'll be able to think of something," he said, while is thumb gently rubbed over the silky surface of his cloak.

"Whatever tricks you used won't be enough to get you out."

"Then I will have to find out what will." It was Grindelwald who spoke. The girl paled, the first flashes of fear appearing in her eyes. "Her wand, Mr. Potter."

Harry walked over, and his movement spurred a frantic struggle from the witch, who thrashed wildly against her bindings as he drew near. Reaching deep into her pocket, he could feel the hatred leaking off of her as he took the wand. It felt wrong in his hand. Nothing could ever compare to the wand he currently owned. _Would I even want to use my old one anymore?_

He stopped, considering what he was about to do, and changed his mind. He cast a second glance at the outstretched hand sticking out beyond the metal cage. _I can't trust him,_ he realized.

Reading Grindelwald was difficult. His body was tense, and his face was dark, but like a cloud crossing over the sun, a passing shadow of amusement washed over him as he lowered his arm. "I suppose trust must be earned." He inclined his head. "It can be done without; I only need her defenseless."

The girl – Annabelle, he remembered suddenly – was shaking across from him. Short puffs of breath were a white mist from her mouth. She was mumbling in French, but he couldn't understand anything being said. _It sounds like she's saying a prayer._ Her eyes were closed.

"She must look at me, Mr. Potter. I need her full gaze if I am to surpass her Occlumency. They are all well trained."

 _This is wrong._ It was the first thing to cross his mind. _But what other choice do I have?_ She was desperate and trembling as he used his magic to force her into position, and suddenly she was still.

Not a sound could be heard in the heart stopping seconds where Grindelwald broke into her mind.

It wasn't fair. She was helpless and defenceless and at the mercy of a man reviled around the world. It reminded him of his lessons with Snape. Alone in the dungeons, repeatedly having has mind violated and deepest memory's exposed. The Mind Arts were cruel and if wielded deftly could be more dangerous than any spell.

A great gasp of air, like a drowned man finally drawing breath, broke the silence. Sweat slicked the brow of the shuddering witch who was as pale as a ghost.

"The protections surrounding Nuremgard are formidable. I designed the fortress to be nigh impenetrable, but it has been fortified beyond the magic I originally used upon its creation. To get in is one matter, but leaving presents an entirely new set of problems. The blue stones pinned to their collars function as a key that allows them to apparate within and beyond the borders. It is an ingenious, yet foolishly flawed system." Grindelwald seemed to almost glow with renewed life, his skin filled with color that had long been sucked out by the cold dark walls.

Harry felt a scrap of cloth in his pocket, the one with the blue stone he'd cut free from Annabelle's shoulder.

"She's seen my face," Harry said, looking out the too small window and into the curtain of darkness beyond. "I can't leave with her knowing that I've been here."

"There are ways to clear such knowledge," Grindelwald said from his position on the cell floor.

"I don't know how."

"Then learn." There was mocking that danced along the edge of his voice.

He'd learnt more complicated pieces of magic in the past, it was certainly possible. Basic memory charms were standard procedure for all members of the Department of Law Enforcement – with Obliviators serving as specialists – if they could do it, so he could he. In reality there wasn't much of a choice. It was either death or a memory charm, and he was no murderer.

"Tell me," he said, his voice hard.

"I shall… but it will have to wait for our French friend to regain consciousness." He gestured to Annabelle who lay broken and sprawled before him. "Memory charms require an active mind, and I was rather… forceful in my earlier intrusion."

Disgust coiled in his gut. _I stood by and let him do that to her… What does that make me?_ The tower was much darker all of a sudden, and he wasn't sure if he could stomach another moment in Grindelwald's presence. This place was purgatory, and it made him want to scream at the silent stony walls that stared at him in judgement. A small alcove was hidden just beyond the worm-like corridor that burrowed deep into the darkness of the cell, and it proved to be his sanctuary. Sliding to the floor, sweat glistened stones wiped their wetness down his spine and through his threadbare head was in his hands, pounding like a drum to the beat of his rushing heart, the pressure of his blood rising and rising.

 _Can I let him out of here?_ Dumbledore had led him this far, but was this right?

His fingers danced across the surface of a familiar object. It was beautiful to behold, with its deep coppery color and surface as smooth as glass or polished marble. Phoenix's soared upon outstretched wings along its soft curved edges, and small gleaming crystals dripped from their sad immortal eyes. _He never had the chance to tell me why he gave this to me._ The oaken box sat in the cradle of his hands, teasing him. It slid open without a sound, revealing its gold velvet lined interior, stitched with scarlet string, and fluffed so it appeared that its contents were floating on a golden cloud. Inside, he could see a set of crystal vials and a white glass mirror rimmed with hand etched runes, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a small golden ball. Tracing its gilded edges and patterned ridges with the ball of his thumb, a smile crept across Harry's face, like the sun peeking above the horizon. Though just as quickly the shadow of a frown passed over. _It didn't open_ , he thought in confusion. No flickering wings unfolded before him. The snitch sat there, still as some painted stone.

 _Even beyond the grave, he still has a sense of humour,_ Harry laughed. The taste was bitter and metallic as he pressed the golden snitch against his lips and tongue – the first flesh to touch it… or swallow it. The snitch from his first match buzzed to life against his mouth, activated by its touch memory. Thin, shimmering wings beat quicker than the eye could follow, and floated its body in the air. And like the dropping of a bird, something hard and black fell from within tapped to the stone below. He thought it to be a pebble. _No, it's cut too finely to be so ordinary_ , he realized when picking it up. It was magical without a doubt, the cut-stone practically breathed life. He'd never heard of anything like it, and puzzled, Harry returned it to the box.

He moved the mirror, something he did recognize, having used it once before. Touching its milky glass and slipping it from where it was snugly fit along the velvet bottom, a slip of parchment tumbled out from where it was hidden underneath. It was curled and crinkled, and marked with long loopy writing that spelt a short strip of text.

 _A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth._

 _Look to the story. The answer lies in destruction._

Harry put the parchment down, and closed the lid of the box with a sharp _snap_ that echoed endlessly through the black hallways. _A stone, a wand, and a cloak._ He ran the words over and over and over again in his mind. _It has to be the stone from the snitch… but the wand and the cloak? I have an invisibility cloak. Could that be what he's talking about? And the wand I have use to belong to Dumbledore. But what does the rest of it mean?_ Nothing made sense, no matter how hard he thought on it. He was sooner going to burst a blood vessel than find an answer.

Anger stirred within Harry, one that was deep and dark and ugly, and born from his mounting frustrations. _I thought he trusted me…_ Heat burned from the scars on his face, and a sharper stab cut right above his brow.

Harry stopped.

It stabbed again, harder and deeper.

His hands fumbled up to his forehead, afraid.

The pain faded.

A certain madness took hold of him then, and he found himself back in front of the cell. "Did you know?" It was a demand.

The grey clothed figure within stirred, though remained silent. He tilted his head, and grey-blue eyes blinked tiredly through falling hair. "Did I know what, Mr. Potter?"

Flushed with rage he snapped. "Did you know!"

He didn't answer, and Harry felt the sudden need to break through the bars and throttle the man. In the shadowed torchlight he could see Grindelwald shift his position, the rags he wore fluttered loosely around his skeletal frame. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to rise. His legs uncrossed and the muscles of his arms tensed beneath tightly drawn skin, and Harry half-expected to hear a series of _cracks_ and _crunches_ from old unused joints. Grindelwald was tall. Even in his decrepit state he looked down on Harry mere inches away.

"Yes, I knew Albus was dying. He visited me often enough, and secrets were rarely kept between us. But I knew before. He stank of death and that glove of his hid nothing from me." His smile was arrogant and proud. "Or is it that you're wondering if I knew you would come? Albus always was a cunning boy, but one who hid it well behind a mask of eccentricity, and later that great white beard of his. He had plans upon plans, like sand, always shifting and always changing… but yes I was one of them. I admit, I was interested by you Mr. Potter, but Albus would hear nothing about my offers. Then one day he arrived with that cursed hand of his, telling me he was dying. I laughed, and he smiled. All men fall in the end. He spoke more and more of you and your war, and though he never said it… I knew. I knew what he wanted of me and what was to come."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Harry heard himself ask.

"Because for all his brilliance, he was ashamed." Grindelwald replied, his gaze never breaking. "Shame makes a man do a great many things, and Albus wore it like a second skin. Shame of his sister, and brother, and family. Shame of me. Shame of that boy called Voldemort. And most of all, shame of not protecting you. I hope he found some peace in death."

"He did," Harry said, remembering his final moments.

Grindelwald nodded. "Now let me find my own peace. Wake her, it has been long enough."

Again, he bound the witch and woke her. However, this time there was no trace of her previous defiance, only tears. "Please… please…" Her voice was a harsh and desperate gasp that stole the air right out of Harry's throat. _What am I doing?_ All pride was gone, and her once finely pressed robes were now cut and crinkled and covered in the black stone's grime.

"You know the incantation?" Harry nodded. "You will be taken into the mind, and you must be clear on what it is you wish to erase. Stray in your thoughts and you will be lost, and so will they."

"Is it like legilimency?" There was a crack in his voice, and when he drew his wand it shook slightly in his hand.

Grindelwald eyed him keenly. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

A sudden flash through the high-slit window lit the tower cell in brilliant white light. Dark glistening pools reflected like black glass beneath him, and he stared back at himself for half a moment. _I have to do this, there is no choice._ They would know it was him if he left her here, and he couldn't let that happen. A violent crash shook the walls. Soft sounds went _tap, tap, tap,_ and silver drops trickled, filling puddles around them.

His heart was crashing against his chest. _Or is that the thunder?_ A wetness was blurring his vision.

 _"Obliviate."_

Their minds joined. Fear filled his mouth as he was propelled down the connection, foreign and fresh, and enough for him to drown on. Like a worm he tunnelled deeper into the soil that was her mind, loose and scattered in its broken state. Black and white mixed, unveiling a spectrum of colors that warped slowly into a scene of blue and green and gold. He was a girl now in a pale blue skirt, short and scared, and approaching a palace that took his breath away. "Es-tu prêt ma petit?" The voice shook him, and though he didn't know the words he understood the meaning. The sky was a clear cloudless blue, and met with the sharp green of the palace's gardens. The was crisp and fresh, and above him his mother shone like the golden sun.

"Oui maman, c'est magnifique!" His voice was a small girlish squeak, nervous, although a gentle squeeze washed it all away. "Tu me rendras visite?" The palace grew larger and larger as he approached, growing out of the ground like a mountain, and now he stood in the shadow of a giant.

"Vous devrez demander Madame Maxime," his mother said, and the nerves returned. Golden doors parted and he almost fainted in fright at the sight of the tallest woman he'd ever seen.

"There eez not much else I can tell about Annabelle, she eez per'aps ze most accomplished student ze school 'as ever seen." The same woman stood before him now, wearing purple-dusted robes that could fit two men and a stern face that could humble a goblin. Though he was no longer afraid of her, instead feeling a surge of warmth and affection. Dressed in stiff dark robes that he spent hours the night before choosing for their professional and tastefully stylish nature, he stood in front of a panel of frowning old men hidden behind a stack of papers in a bare square room.

"We receive applications from exceptional students each year. Books and papers are all well and good, but we want to know what _you_ offer the ICW." His voice was croaky like a frog, and his bushy white eyebrows bounced with each word, but despite his comic appearance he found himself swallowing nervously before answering.

 _Focus…_ a voice whispered in his mind

A crack of lightning sent his head spinning, and when the world stilled it was lit by an orange gloom. Flames flicked and shadows were thrown down empty dark halls, the low light filling with dread.

 _Focus,_ it whispered again.

The air was hot, uncomfortably so, and despite the dank chill that whistled through grates and bars, he felt sweat build along his back. "You know there are nights I dream about the two of us." An overwhelmingly sweet scent assaulted his nose, an artificial one that did not mix well with stale smell of the prison. "We spend so much time alone, it makes me want to get to know you better." Revulsion bubbled at the back of his throat. The man – Andres – had his hand resting on her hip.

"I think we know each other just fine, besides our rounds are almost finished," he found himself saying. Panic was seeping into his body, but he fought to keep it out of his voice.

"Not fine enough, why don't we stop here?" He kept moving, but an iron grip clamped painfully around his thin wrist and stopped him.

A protest was stuck deep in his throat, silenced by the violent thrust of a tongue into his mouth. There was pain around his breast, as Andres groped him roughly, not caring for the bruises he might leave. He felt small and weak and terrified. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. He couldn't let anyone know, it could ruin his career.

 _Focus!_

He screamed and pushed away, slapping the bastard in the face, his long nails cutting into flesh and drawing blood. But when he turned, he faced another attacker. One slim and tall, with piercing green eyes behind round-rims. He stopped and stared. He was young, so young, but confident and powerful. Burns stretched up his neck and jaw, and beneath a mess of dark hair sat a scar anyone would recognize around the world.

It was him. Harry Potter. He was looking at himself.

 _But who am I_?

That was when he knew it had all gone wrong. Memories were overflowing, spilling beyond his control, and flashing too quick to catch. _My face. I need to hide my face._ He was pushing through a storm, emotions and feelings, faces and places, all blasting him like screaming winds. He saw it, for half a heartbeat, green eyes and a lightning scar, and grasped blindly into her mind and tore it out.

Cold slick stone shocked him to reality, and heavy breathing filled the tower. His hands were in puddles, the rain now slapping against the fortress walls. Feet from him, Annabelle lay still.

"I strayed…" It was a dagger to the heart, but instead of blood only rain soaked his shirt, growing darker and darker as it spread.

"So you did. There is not much else we can do." He could hear Grindelwald behind him. "Let us be on our way."

"I strayed."

She sat there half a corpse, pale, soaked, and cold, staring unblinkingly into the ceiling above. _I'm sorry_. The world flashed white with a crash, and water dripped unto her face. _I'm so sorry…_ "It's time." An arm touched his shoulder. Harry's eyes never left hers as he gripped the blue stone in his pocket and apparated.

A wet slap in the face greeted his sudden appearance, the storm picking up its intensity. He stood in the clearing Nico had left him in, soaked to the bone, frozen, and numb.

He could hear laughter – a deep rumbling laugh, that he almost mistook for distant thunder. Grindelwald stood in front of him in hysterics, bare feet sinking into the mud, stringy hair plastered to his face, and eyes alight and alive. He was in rapture – a young man again. Looking up above the free man, his blurred gaze trailed up a spire and to the dark cell they'd left behind. Harry was glad for the rain running like rivers down his face, it meant he wasn't alone, because the world wept with him.

 **AN:**

 **Another quick update. I know many of you are more accustomed to the longer chapters I released previously, and perhaps prefer them, but for the time being I will be sticking to the shorter lengths between 5-8K words. The chapter lengths will be more or less novel length this way, and quicker to come out than the hulking beasts I used to put out.**

 **I will be portraying Grindelwald in the way I envision him to be. I haven't watched the second Fantastic Beasts movie, so whatever version of Grindelwald found within, and whatever backstory/motivations they gave him, will not be used (unless they coincidentally cross over with my own).**

 **Do let me know your thoughts and leave reviews. They help a lot, and I like reading what everyone has to say.**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 5 - Arc 2 - Dark Truths

It was a scene he knew all too well.

The room was bright with life, almost painfully so. Tall candles near a foot in length burned golden along the walls in their gilded casings. Below, cast in the merry glow of magic light a party lived on. Balloons of scarlet and gold, blue and green and orange floated about the dining hall, while a scattering of confetti whipped overhead like fallen leaves caught in the wind. If that wasn't enough evidence for the party, then the smiles surely were. It mattered not which direction he looked, each and every face was ruddy with cheer, with laughter rebounding off walls and drinks swishing in hands. If happiness were an infection, then he'd happened across an epidemic.

He'd missed it the first time. The second as well, and perhaps the third… but now he saw it. Beneath the carefree masks, churning like the murky waters underneath its frozen surface, darkness dwelt. It was in their eyes, the lines that had no place on their young faces, and the subtle shaking of their hands when they thought nobody was looking. Except he was – he saw it all. The fear, the suspicion, and the paranoia in their shifting gazes, tensing and darting as if expecting a shadow to jump out at them. _Maybe that's why they kept the room so bright._ The thought had never occurred to him before. It showed that there was always something new to learn.

He turned to look across the richly decorated room, where a four-tiered fountain sat upon a dark stained table, streaming bubbles and crystal liquid that shot thousands of tiny rainbows from the reflected light. Two redheads, stocky as tree trunks, were doing a terrible job of not locking suspicious just off to the side. They were identical, save for a curved scar just below the lip of the one on the right – it was impossible to see from this distance, yet he knew it was there all the same.

A resounding _pop_ burst forth, and the entire room nearly jumped out of their skin, save Harry. Instead, he watched their reactions, something he'd never done before. Listening to it now, the sound was hardly anything to be worked up over, like the bubble wrap the Dursley's would receive with some of their packages. But looking at the assembled crowd, you would have thought the world was ending. _Probably because they thought it was._ Hands immediately went to wands, some already drawn and others hidden in robes and pockets. There were shrieks of fright, enough white faces to be mistaken for a death day party, and exactly four people who dropped in faint. Panic flooded the room, and the thin veneer that had so carefully been crafted was torn away to show the rot beneath.

All because of a prank that had gone off at the wrong moment.

The twins were red-faced in shame, a pair of tomatoes rubbing sheepishly at the back of their heads. Two immaculate white beards adorned their faces, stretching down almost past their navels, and a bottle of champagne was upended on the floor, its contents slowly pooling to the floor with soft gulps.

Ten heart wrenching seconds of silence went by – he'd counted them – before it was broken. "There's a joke in there somewhere." He knew that bark of laughter all too well.

"Premature spillage is definitely a Prewett problem." Another voice spoke, one not so familiar, but just as sweet on the ears. "Although the imagery doesn't really go with the old man beards."

Soft titters of laughter could be heard breaking around the room, some of the tension easing away.

"As the resident old man, James, I feel as though I must remind you that we live in a world of magic where anything is possible." Ever the showman, Dumbledore entered the room with a flourish, his midnight blue robes swirling and the silver stitching twinkling like stars. His voice was like a glass of hot cocoa, filling you with warmth. "Quite the impressive beards, you boys must pass on the finer details of that piece of magic."

"James, did Dumbledore just make a se –"

"– he most definitely just did, Sirius."

The grins his father and godfather wore nearly split their faces. Sirius had always been handsome, but without the effects of Azkaban, he was strikingly so. The eyes of nearly every witch, from young to old (even the very old), were devouring him with hungry stares. Beside him, tall and skinny and bespectacled, James Potter looked more alive than any photograph could do justice. Though his favorite part was to come, with a head of lustrous red hair that gleamed like fire in the light, pushing its way through the crowd. "Happy Birthday Headmaster, it's fantastic to see you."

"Ah yes… a century." His hands crossed in front of him. "That is why you are all here isn't it." Even now, Harry could pick up on the first signs that something was not right with Dumbledore.

"Are you alright, Albus?" His mother did as well.

The fleeting shadow of melancholy passed over him, and the man sparked back to life. "Oh, fantastic, thank you Lily. I was only just thinking about how difficult it will be for me to blow out one hundred candles." There was something notably false about his smile. "Now," he said, turning his attention to the rest of the party, "I do apologize for my tardiness… though it is my own party so perhaps I can be forgiven. It warms my heart to see you all here tonight, and I wish you the most pleasant of evenings."

The rest all seemed to pass in a blur, he'd seen it all before. Faces lost to history and long dead before their time floated about the room like specters, oblivious to their awaiting fates. A tall dark haired wizard, who's cheeks were lined by a thick bramble of a beard, stood and chatted with what appeared to be colleagues of his. His name was Benjy Fenwick, and in a matter of days he would be found as broken pieces and pulp on the ground. Not ten feet over was a woman, who's ebony skin glowed gold in the candlelight, looking half a goddess. Dorcas Meadowes was to return to her home that evening, where Voldemort himself was waiting. It was a hall of the dead – none more so than those he was staring at right now.

He'd tried to call out to them once. He knew it was foolish, but how could he not? They were right there… perfect and happy and everything he'd dreamed it to be. James and Sirius were poking fun at everyone they came across, teasing and smiling, and leaving them all in breathless laughter. In the shadows of the looming war, they were a patch of brightness that broke through the darkness, drawing others in like moths to an open flame. Lily was there as well, giggling, and playing along with the best of them.

Very quickly, the party came to a close. Guests were slowly making their way to fireplaces, and to the front door to apparate home. Harry could see the last lingering few chatting to Dumbledore, some about the Wizengamot, others about Quidditch, but what was most important were the few whispered words of the war beneath it all. Knowing where to look, he could see the way Dumbledore's eyes twitched across the room each time the Order or the war was mentioned.

"Perhaps I might trouble you to stay behind," Dumbledore said, when his parents finally approached. Sirius looked as though he wanted to speak up, but James waved him away and agreed.

The last few guests flashed away in the floo, Sirius rather reluctantly, and Dorcas who kissed both his parents on the cheek and promised to visit soon. It was only when the last flickers of emerald flame vanished, that Dumbledore turned around. The room was no longer bright; in fact, it was significantly darker. The candles overhead had dimmed and cast an orange gloom over their faces. Shadows stretched from the walls, misty serpents, shaded, and slithering along the floor. And moonlight trickled in from high arched windows, and melted into glowing silver pools along the ground.

"How is young Harry?" His lips pulled beneath his beard into a kindly smile, but his eyes remained as flat as a cloud covered sky.

"Good and healthy, Albus, and already making our lives hell with his magic. We left him at my mothers. The only times I've seen her happy since dad died is when she is with him."

"Why?" James interjected, a frowned creased above the frames of his glasses. "Is he not safe?"

Dumbledore scratched the crook of his nose. "For the time being, yes. Though, I think it would be best if Harry's trips to his grandmother's came to a close."

Lily and James looked to one another then, some silent understanding passing between the two. They'd known something was wrong.

"What happened?" It was Lily who asked, her face cold stone where before it was filled with warmth.

"I have much to apologize for. It would be best if we sat down." Dumbledore sighed, his body sagging like a deflated balloon as he led them to a scattering of chairs left over from the party. "Harry is not safe," he said, blunt and to the point, once seated.

"Why?" His parents spoke at the same time. Their hands were intertwined, and white-knuckled in their grip. They were scared.

A cone of silence was cast over them all, and Dumbledore sat stiff as a rod, searching for something that nobody else could see. "Just over a year ago, a former student of mine approached me for an interview to fill the long absent post of Divination."

"That new Trelawney girl?" James asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "I wasn't looking to re-instate the course, but I couldn't deny her the opportunity to state her case. We'd agreed to meet at the Hog's Head, and over the course of the interview I was beginning to have my doubts whether she was qualified for the position or not. That was until she proved me wrong: _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

"That's Harry," Lily said almost immediately, her hand clutching at her chest. "Or Neville," James amended, a frown still sitting heavily on his face.

The soft ticking of a clock and sharp cracklings of a dying hearth carried through Dumbledore's pause. "Prophecies are treacherous by nature, but that seems to be the likely conclusion."

"Can we not just ignore it. Prophecies aren't uncommon, and don't necessarily come true, I remember reading once that the Department of Mysteries has an entire branch devoted to them."

"That is what I wished for, my dear, but things are rarely so simple. The interview was interrupted by a… snooping Death Eater, who overheard a portion of the prophecy. I'd thought the matter settled, or that Voldemort had chosen to ignore the more mystical side of magic, but the last few months have shown otherwise."

James' eyes widened a touch, and seemed to shiver in his place. "That's why they've been attacking us." He pulled Lily closer to his body.

"Yes, the attempts to recruit you have been abandoned I'm afraid. Voldemort has taken a dangerous interest in the prophecy, and Harry especially." For a moment, cloaked in the dark hold of dread, Dumbledore looked as old as in the last year of his life.

"Who was it?" The question was a breathy whisper that floated across the tense air like a brush of wind. Dumbledore stiffened. "Who?" Lily asked again, and Dumbledore shifted under her fierce, unblinking stare. "Who did this to my son?"

"I don't think…" Dumbledore cleared his throat, and swallowed, and saw that no words would help him. Harry could feel his heart beating faster in his chest, each pump sending a rush of hot blood pounding into his skull. _Say it,_ he wanted to scream, _Say it!_ But Dumbledore hadn't given up yet. "It doesn't do well to put such blame –"

"Who did this to my son."

A breath stretched into an eternity, before he finally cracked. "Severus Snape."

 _Snape, Snape, Snape, Snape…_

The name ran rings in his mind, trampling his senses, and leaving him with nothing but boiling rage. Everything that had gone wrong with his life, lay at the feet of Snape. It wasn't enough that the man was utterly loathsome from the moment they met, but he was the one to deliver the prophecy to Voldemort. The memory ran onwards, he knew, but he couldn't stomach another moment.

Cold and dusty air hit his lungs when he returned to reality. A second lungful never came, as he was coughing with such force it was a wonder his fingers did not come away with blood. He hated this house – though it was more a hovel in truth. The floors were laid with hard chipped wood, and the walls stood with crumbling timber legs that threatened to collapse at a moment's notice. It made the Burrow look like a proper manor, and it lacked all of the Weasley charm. Not a moment went by where he wasn't breathing in sawdust and minute shards that clogged and scraped his airways on their way down. And no amount of cleaning charms seemed to do the trick.

"Emotions are powerful tools, but we should never allow them to rule us." Two Grindelwalds sat at a shoddy three-legged table, before his vision gradually morphed into one as the wetness from his eyes cleared. The old man was dressed in the drab grey robes he had taken to wearing recently, and the first hints of stubble were growing in at the top of his head.

"I'm fine," Harry grumbled. He sounded half a child, but he was too angry to care. After having to pull out several thick slivers, he'd come to learn where best to place his feet as he walked to the table. His nose twitched, still not having grown use to the signature scent of wood rot.

Grindelwald laughed coldly, pulling a newspaper from the inside of his robes. "I've seen you exit that pensieve for weeks. Do you think it has escaped my notice that one memory in particular festers in you like an untreated wound? I need only look at the murder written across your face to know you most certainly are not _fine_." He flicked the paper open with a _snap_.

"Anything new?" Harry asked. _It would be nice if there was something to read that wasn't in German._

He waited, knowing it would be some time before he got his response. It was some strange game the man played, making others wait on him in some demonstration of dominance. "I'm still on the front page – decades younger – you would think they wouldn't be so foolish as to not put what I look like now." It was part of the reason why they chose to shave his head, the other being he couldn't stand its unkempt stringiness.

"They're probably doing it stir fear." _Not that they don't need any other reason to fear you_ , Harry thought to himself, keeping his eyes down.

Grindelwald peered over the edge of the paper. "Just so."

The papers ruffled as he flipped the page, sending a photographed wizard tumbling out of his frame. "And they still are investigating the identity of a possible unknown accomplice. Some man named Krum is joining a special task force to find us," Harry's had snapped up to attention, "they're making a spectacle of him quitting Quidditch for this."

"Viktor Krum?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"He's a friend," Harry replied. "You killed his grandfather." Hermione had told him that after Binns' lecture.

"I killed a lot of people."

Harry clenched his fist. "Is there anything else?" He asked tightly, the anger inside him coiling like a spring. The response he received was silence, mixed with gentle mindless humming and the crinkling of pages. "Did they say anything else? You _know_ what I mean."

Grindelwald slowly let the paper down, and met his eye. "No, they made no mention of that girl. I told you before, there is nothing that can be done. She is past any help."

The chair clattered to the ground with an offensively loud sound. He tasted blood, and could feel it fill his mouth and run over his teeth. The table scraped across the floor, sending up a shower of wooden chips, his tongue throbbing from biting down. "Oh, control yourself." That was enough to halt Harry's abrupt exit.

"Control myself?" The last tendril of control he did have over his temper snapped. "You're telling me to control myself? How can I possibly do that, when I'm the one who broke Gellert Grindelwald out of Nurmengard? _You_ are the escaped criminal, yet _I_ am the one who's trapped in this shack all day. Because of _this_ ," he practically hissed pointing to his lightning scar, that had a sudden burn of pain. _My own personal nametag._ "While you are walking free, I'm in here staring at bare walls and counting holes in the ceiling."

"Do you forget that this was my life for decades?" His words were razor sharp.

"No, I don't. Nor do I forget the reasons you were there in the first place. What have I done to deserve this?" _You killed Annabelle,_ a voice whispered in the depths of his mind. _She's not dead,_ he argued back. _As good as_ , it hissed, and he knew it was true. _I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry._

"Is there someplace you would rather be?" Harry knew it was a mocking question, but he couldn't help but put it to mind. _There are thousands of places I'd rather be. In the common room talking to Ron and Hermione, on a Quidditch pitch, or just being with…_ He thought he could smell a touch of lavender, but it was quickly replaced by the house's grungy musk. "You came to me and left with me, and each step of the way I've remained faithful. I could have apparated away any time, or killed you in your sleep, but instead I am offering you my services. Your transfiguration remains sloppy, I can crack open your mind easier than a children's novel, and you wield legilimency like a blind man does a sword. Now do you wish to die, or do you wish to live?"

Thinking back, it hadn't been much of a choice. _Live or die._ The two were intricately linked, and woven by the same fates who spoke through Trelawney that fateful evening. … _neither can live while the other survives…_ His life would only begin with the death of Voldemort, and he refused to die without returning the favor. As such, he was stuck with Gellert Grindelwald.

Days passed as the sun rose and fell, and the moon waxed and waned, some days hidden behind a canvas of clouds and others shining clear in the sky. Spring was in full flight, its wings spread, soaring through the skies and bringing in fresh showers and the songs of birds. He could smell it in the air, filtering in through cracked windows and rejuvenating the old home. Light stretched, while darkness shortened, the hours of light growing longer each day, and settling in a new feeling of hope.

He found himself in the child's room one afternoon, working to clear his mind for the day. It was on the second floor, and he'd named it for the splintered furniture fitted to the room that looked as if it had been hit by a shrinking charm: a desk sized perfectly for a goblin, chairs that hardly passed his kneecaps, and a chipped wooden bedframe that could fit a mattress for a house-elf. The basics of Occlumency, were still a struggle for him. It seemed that whenever he got close to clearing his mind, his scar would flare in pain. Today was no different, a headache having already bloomed, stray thoughts slipping into his consciousness with every pulse of his head. Working itself over and over in his mind, refusing to be cleared, was the message Dumbledore had left him in the box. He'd been ruminating on its contents for days now, and none of the other memories gave any insight to its hidden meaning. _He left me with a bloody stupid riddle._ Harry cringed, clutching at his beating temple. Pushing away his reservations, and abandoning the Occlumency, Harry figured it was time.

Staring out a square, dirt smudged window, Grindelwald stood where he could normally found, at the center of the only other room on the second floor, stripped bare to its bone. The view overlooked a green-grey river that almost seemed to swallow the light that hit its surface. Snaking its way beneath bridges congested with automobiles, it split the rows of houses that faced off on opposite banks and moved with a lazy current. It was a beautiful view, urban yet peaceful, looking out upon on a stretch of Berlin. _He's told me that much at least,_ Harry thought. After their escape, Grindelwald had taken them on a long dotted course across the continent before ending up here, a house on the fringes of the Berlin magical community.

"How is your mind?" The man asked, without turning around.

"It hurts," Harry answered, knowing that wasn't his question.

Grindelwald let out a puff of air, and his shoulders shook slightly. "You have a vexing personality, Mr. Potter."

"Only to people I don't like." Harry shifted his feet, the floorboards creaking loudly with the changing weight. He stood several feet behind the man, and was growing irritated with staring at the back of his shaved head – he took to the razor at least once a week.

"You truly are a breath of fresh air to the tedium of my former guards. There was once a man named Franz who worked at Nurmengard. He fought against me in the war, and was one of my original jailers. His son who he predictably named Franz as well, took over from his father, and Frideric – the grandson – had only just taken up his posting before your arrival. All three would curse me the same, it grew rather dull after a time, especially since the original Franz was never quite insulting. Though I suppose it gave those worthless wretches something to laugh about when they told their tall tales to their horrid children. That family grew only uglier with each passing generation, and they were too stupid to understand why I would always laugh when seeing them."

"My Occlumency is coming along," Harry said this time around, not caring to remark on his story.

Grindelwald hummed to himself, the same tune he'd first heard when climbing the tower. "I'm sure it is, though it will never reach a satisfactory level. I grow tired of looking into your mind and hearing your mother scream, seeing your friends die, and feeling all your emotions for that pretty French – "

"Stop." Harry said, louder than he'd intended. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"At least we are fortunate enough that you favor the other side of the coin." Grindelwald turned, smiling. "What is that you want?"

 _I want to knock that wiggling smirk off your face_ , he thought, and Harry was certain his smile widened a touch. He was half-tempted to leave the room, but his want to understand the message won out. The parchment crinkled in Grindelwald's leathery fingers when he passed it over. "I want to know what that means."

Harry watched closely as Grindelwald read the paper, then re-read it, and passed over it a third time. His face remained unchanged. "Albus left you this?"

"Yes… amongst other things."

Grindelwald folded the paper and handed it back. "The story he speaks of his that of The Tale of the Three Brothers. Different versions are told to children around the world, but the legend remains largely unchanged. Three brothers cheat death in some way, and Death offers them any one gift they wish. The eldest, of violent nature, asked for a wand of untold power. The middle, drowning in grief over the loss of his lover, asked for a stone that could raise the dead. The youngest and the most mistrustful of Death asked for a cloak that could hide from death itself. In the end, the eldest was murdered for the power of the wand, and the middle took his own life after only the shade of his lover returned. The youngest lived a long and happy life, and when Death came he passed the cloak to his son and met Death as an equal."

" _A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth,_ " Harry said aloud.

"The three gifts from Death, a common enough phrase for those familiar with the tale. Though, curiously, Albus has changed the wording. It is meant to be: A stone of death, a wand of death, a cloak of truth. The moral of the story being that the only true gift was the cloak, the others poisoned and bringing death."

"Why is this so important?"

"Albus and I spent our youth scouring history for a hint of the Deathly Hallows, as they are called. It is commonly believed that the three brothers came from the Peverell family, one shrouded in infamy, before they merged with a newer family rising in power in Britain. The Potters." Harry straightened, and Grindelwald's eyes gleamed. "You see Mr. Potter, the Deathly Hallows are real. I myself felt the power of the wand rush through my veins, before I lost it to Albus, who it appears… lost it to you." Harry couldn't help but reach to touch the wand in his holster, the wood humming against his skin. "And that marvelous cloak of yours, would I be right in assuming it is an heirloom of your family?" His teeth showed, he never needed an answer. "Together the three make the Master of Death. Alas, the stone vanished to time along with its owner." Grindelwald closed his eyes, his voice lingering in the air with loss like a grieving man.

 _I have the stone,_ Harry almost said. _I have the stone. I have the wand. I have the cloak. What does that make me?_

He didn't feel like the Master of Death. He didn't feel like the master of anything, stuck in this house, learning from a man he despised. And what did the remainder of the note mean? _The answer lies in destruction,_ he reminded himself.

It appeared as though Grindelwald thought the same. "Albus always was rather infuriating."

"You don't know what it means either?" Harry felt a pit form in his stomach. _Where does that leave us?_

He answered the question with a question. "Tell me, did Albus speak to you of Horcruxes?"

"He did," Harry said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. _Had Dumbledore told him everything?_ He'd kept the prophecy and horcruxes from friends he would trust his life with, but Dumbledore saw fit to tell Grindelwald. The man was locked away forever in a grim, lonely tower, forgotten and isolated from the rest of the world, and perhaps Dumbledore had some reason to entrust the information to Grindelwald – the man was frighteningly brilliant after all – but it still hurt. It cut him deep, like a hot knife running through flesh, stinging and burning and igniting the kindling of resentment. _He's done this before,_ a dark part of his mind spoke to him, _betrayed you, hid things from you. Remember the prophecy… remember Sirius._ Something was wrong, he could feel it brewing around him. It wasn't there yet, but he could feel it encroaching, a storm building off the horizon, its dark fingers reaching for his neck.

Grindelwald appeared deep in thought, and for a half a second Harry wondered if he'd fallen asleep standing up. "He told you the seven horcruxes?"

 _Seven?_ "The Diary, the ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's Locket, the snake Nagini, and something belonging to Ravenclaw. Those are the ones we spoke of."

Grindelwald's eyes widened a touch. "Albus," he breathed out, looking up to the ceiling. "You cowardly bastard, leaving this to me. Would it not have been easier on the boy to hear it from a man he loves, not hates." He spoke as if he forgot Harry was in the room.

But then he looked down, his eyes piercing into his own, and Harry knew it wasn't the case. "What's going on?" _He lied to you, hid things from you,_ the voice returned. "What aren't you telling me?" Panic was rushing into him, sending his voice to a higher pitch as he spoke.

Their gaze never broke, and in the cold depths of Grindelwald's grey-blue pits he thought he caught a stirring of sympathy. "Seven horcruxes." He said, finally. "He never told you the seventh?"

Harry shook his head, though he wasn't sure how much it actually moved. The darkness he'd felt before was overhead, a heavy cloud that shrouded him in its aphotic energy. Gnarled, icy fingers squeezed his throat.

"It's you."

It took a moment before the words sunk in, and another before he understood what it all meant.

Harry stumbled, unable to breath and the air sucked straight from his body. "No… you l-lie." His tongue was tying on itself. "You're l-lying to me." _No, he lied to you. Dumbledore lied._ The room was spinning around him, Grindelwald was everywhere and nowhere at once. He could hear his voice, a muffled whisper lost in a storm, but where it came from he was not sure. _I'm a horcrux,_ the truth smashed into him like a bludger. "I can't be." _I am._ "You're lying!" He heard a shriek. _I'm a dead man walking._ His hand reached to touch his scar, smearing some liquid across his forehead and into his hair. Blood, he realized tasting it. A shard of wood stood out of his hand, pooling crimson that bubbled between his clenched fingers. At some point he'd fallen, the ground hard beneath his back. _When did that happen?_ A face floated above him now, one old and crossed with chiselled lines. "Dumbledore…" he whispered. _Why did you lie?_ He wanted to ask, reaching up to touch his face, blood trickling down his elbow. It couldn't be, he realized, there was no beard and his face lacked any warmth… any love. _He loved you enough to send you to die,_ a thousand voices mocked. "Shut up!" He screamed at them.

"Mr. Potter," a voice called out to him, and a hand closed over his bloody one. "It is true Mr. Potter, a piece of Voldemort entered you the night he killed your parents." Blood was running like beads from his eyes, but when they reached his lips he tasted salt. "You are a horcrux, Mr. Potter. But all is not lost." It was Grindelwald speaking, kneeling down on the floor beside him. _I'm being comforted by Gellert Grindelwald._ He wanted to cry, but then remembered he already was.

"I'm dead." Harry's breath was caught in his clenched throat, coming out low and cracked.

"Not yet," he said. "Albus loved you. He toiled and slaved and wept for your life. He swore not to fail you, it was near all he spoke about, and I in my foolish sentimentality promised my aid."

"How?" He croaked, the pulsing of his injured palm was overran by the throbbing of his scar.

"Unfortunately, I do not know." Grindelwald looked angry with his admission. "Though there is someone who knew Albus and his mind almost as well as I do," he said with a visible frown. "And has a talent for making the impossible possible."

 **AN:**

 **Another update done!**

 **Now... whew, I did not expect the last chapter to be so polarizing. I understand people might not like the fact that Harry freed Grindelwald, but if you take a close look at Harry's motivations, the position he's in, and everything that's happened to him, then you'll see why it happened that way. You're all my readers, and I appreciate you all very much, but I feel at times that some of you are applying too much of your own outside knowledge as a reader and assuming to much, and not considering the way in which the story has unfolded thus far and the logical flow of the narrative. Not every situation has an easy answer, and bad things sometimes need to happen. It might seem dark right now, but don't dismiss possible changes that might come around in the future. Have faith some faith in Harry guys, he's not an evil kid and he's full of surprises.**

 **As always, let me know your thoughts, both positive and negative. But do try to leave criticism that is constructive in some form and backed by the text in some way. Thanks!**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 6 - Arc 2 - A Man Named Wulfric

The day was dying, drawn out and agonizing, a red slash of blood came dripping down the horizon.

 _At least the air is fresh,_ Harry thought filling his lungs. It was sharp and crisp and stung like hot needles inside his chest. He would miss this. Miss the glowing sun, orange and gloomy, and burning gloriously low in the sky. _It's the little things…_ A gentle breeze carrying the chill of night kissed his cheek and ran its fingers through his shaggy hair. _I need a haircut_ , he decided. Grindelwald had offered to shave his head, but Harry refused as he'd taken to using the tangled mess of his fringe to hide his scar… and he was likely to slice open his scalp if he tried a trim himself. _I still don't know if I can trust him with a wand._ He would never lend his own, either. It called to him, and soothed him with its warm touch. He had taken to holding it whenever possible, and the times he did not, it felt as though a part of himself was being torn apart.

Harry turned, stepping carefully down the crest of the hill, before turning over his shoulder to take a final look at the mountains at his back. They rose like giants from the earth, unkempt with wild growth. It was a brilliant green expanse, speckled with color by the blossoming flowers. Trees shot up the slant like pickets, shadowing the landscape as the sun slipped behind pointed peaks with grey caps sitting on their heads. They had been shimmering white only moments before.

A week had passed since they had first checked into a shabby muggle inn at the base of the Pyrenees. He'd been told the establishment was called something that roughly translated to 'Falling Waters Suites,' named after a nearby waterfall that had run dry centuries ago. It made no difference to him, it stank like shit, was infested by mold, and the thin mountain air howled through its cracked walls and loose windows keeping him up at night... amongst other things. _But at least the food is decent._ Harry had taken on a new appreciation for food, and the brief stirrings of happiness it brought with each bite. _And the whiskey too._ It was no Ogden's, but it worked well enough. It was a shame Grindelwald put that to an end after the second night where he returned to their room stumbling and sick and half-conscious.

The clanking of a rusted old bell announced his entrance to the pub, the door slamming shut behind him. Cut off from the outside world, wafts of stale vomit and spilt ale tickled his nose. He caught sight of the backside of the rotund barkeep, shuffling out behind the bar and into the pantry _._ The sight of Harry seemed to put the fright of God into him. There were only so many smoking breaks a man could take in a day.

"You 'eading up to zee monastery tomorrow." A voice coughed from someplace to his right. A balding man in his middle ages sat nursing a beer. Joining him at his table were the same two men he shared company with every evening. Each had told them their names, but he didn't bother remembering them.

"If the weather allows, yes." Harry said, stepping up to their table. The men were all under the impression that Harry and Grindelwald were holy men making some sort of pilgrimage up the mountain, like so many before. The memory of their enquiry still almost made him laugh. _Oh the horror on Grindelwald's face._ They weren't so friendly now.

"Say a prayer for me, non?" The red moustached one said, and spat yellow phlegm to the floor, mushing it beneath the heel of his boot. "Your kind go up and down zat mountain all ze time, but I never see any crosses. _Païen._ "

Harry had already walked past the men, pushing their suspicious glares and biting words out of his mind.

Shaded in a corner booth, half-seen and cloaked in wisps of shadow was Grindelwald. Walls sat on both his left and right side, shielding him, and providing an open view across the sparsely populated pub. A stub of a candle sat burning in front of him, flickering oddly on his face.

"They don't like us," Harry said, taking a seat. He didn't need to point behind him.

"We don't particularly look like priests… or act like them for that matter." In the low light, his eyes were dark holes that passed over Harry. "Even muggles begin to notice things when thrown directly in their faces. Most of the wizarding population that pass through here hardly linger long enough to be more than an oddity that is easily forgotten. We've stayed for too long."

"And who's fault is that?"

"Not mine." Grindelwald looked at him sharply. "Time moves differently for our mutual friend, and days for him likely blur together." He pulled a letter from the folds of his grey woolen robes. "The fat man brought me this."

"You mean the bartender who ran away when I walked in?" Harry asked, taking the letter into his hands. Grindelwald's grey lips quirked into a smile. _Whatever he threatened him with must have been bloody terrifying._ The parchment itself was creamy to the touch, certainly expensive, and even with his glasses Harry had to squint to read the neat and tiny scrawl.

"It's unsigned," Harry said pointedly, setting the letter on the table between them.

"He is not one for names. An oddity for sure, but we are already acquainted so it matters not."

"Obviously not well enough for him to trust you." Harry tapped the folded letter with his finger.

"He was Albus' friend, not mine. We are fortunate enough that he's agreed to meet us." Grindelwald picked the letter up and lowered its body to the flame. White smoke floated first before the fire caught, blackening the edges as it curled up and collapsed into a burnt husk. "If we wish to enter the school then we must follow his directions. I will admit, you are the sole reason we are allowed to set foot on those mountains."

 _Alic, a British history student looking for an apprenticeship_ , he wanted to laugh."I don't see how this will work. I'm pants with history, and the moment this librarian sees my face he'll know who I am. That's not even mentioning Maxime."

"Play your role, and all will be well."

 _Coming from the man safely hiding underneath my cloak._ "You could just tell me who this man is, and why you both are so confident this won't fail." Harry said, not even trying to keep the irritation from his voice. He'd long stopped caring for those things.

The man cast his gaze across the room once more, focusing for a moment on the three mistrustful locals stumbling out the door. Likely heading home and back to wives who would scold them for drinking too much. Light fluttered in front of them, with the flame nearly being extinguished by the breeze whistling in. When it stilled, Grindelwald stood slowly and replied. "And relieve you of the opportunity of working it out for yourself? I think not."

 _Of course._ "I think I figured out why you and Dumbledore got along so well. You're both unbearably annoying at times." _And you both hide your secrets and true motivations behind well-kept masks,_ Harry did not say. He stared at the chipped wooden table for a time, somber and brooding. _Dumbledore was first and took it all to his grave… I wonder which of us will be next? Let's hope there is enough justice left in this world that you'll die before I do._

Empty air sat before him when he lifted his eyes, touching his scar. Grindelwald had already gone. Harry looked around the near empty room and craned his neck towards the stairs, and saw nothing. He checked a second time just to be sure. _Another night alive. I might as well celebrate it_ , he smiled a bitter smile. Hidden behind the shelter of the booth, Harry could see the barkeep return, re-tying his stained apron around his bulging belly. Stepping forward to the counter, still unnoticed, a floorboard beneath him creaked. With the stud of a cigarette stuck between his lips and ash still on his fingers, the man turned around with eyes the size of boiled eggs. Before Harry could so much as open his mouth, the man was back in his pantry with another cigarette in hand. _If this keeps up, I'll be the reason he gets cancer._ He kicked a stool over in frustration, listening a moment as it bounced and scraped along the floor, before stomping up the stairs.

He didn't dare look at Grindelwald when walking into their room, knowing the bastard would be smiling.

That night he dreamt of death. Of blood and war and horcruxes. He dreamt of a stag, still and freshly slain, its blood and viscera spilling over a white flower field. A phoenix wept overhead, and tears spilt were crimson drops on his pale skin, but when he looked up it was to Justin's twitching corpse. At his feet sat Susan in a spray of copper tresses, though her eyes were grey and haunted, and peered at him through a veil. It was Annabelle's face in front of him now, wet and dripping from a storm, vacant and unfocused and lost with nothing but an empty void laying beyond her gaze. Silver hair flashed in the moonlight as twisted hands reached for his throat. But when he touched them, they melted away into molten pools of burning flesh that bubbled to the floor. He saw a diary and a locket, a cup, a ring, and a strange crown. A great snake slipped around his limbs, constricting and binding him before a towering mirror. Green eyes stared back into his own, and a wand rose towards his reflection. The snake tightened its hold, and just before the flash of green, his eyes were red as blood.

Sweat clung to his body and stuck to the sheets that wound around his twisted frame. His chest was heaving, bringing in gulps of stale air that filled the room, making him want to gag. His scar was throbbing, and sunlight beat in through a window as another headache was well on its way.

"Good. You're up. We leave in five minutes." Grindelwald was a blurred shade standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at his shaking form. The door to the room snapped shut behind him not a moment later, leaving Harry alone and aching while he slipped on his glasses.

He wasn't hungry that morning, his stomach tight and throat filled with the taste of salt, bile, and blood. Grindelwald didn't say anything when Harry passed over the full breakfast waiting at their table, but he didn't need to. _Let him think what he wants_. The rising din of the waking crowd forced his eyes shut in pain. The sound of knives scraping, and forks and plates clattering together seemed to be amplified tenfold. His head was a drum pounding away, dancers stomping to its rhythm against his skull. Grindelwald paid with the money he'd had hidden away in the house in Berlin. He had bought too much food, whole plates left steaming and untouched between them, but then again he always did. _He certainly is enjoying his freedom… it's a shame I can't enjoy what's left of mine._

The sky was a blue canvas stretched above the Pyrenees, with lazy white clouds that looked as though they had been painted on. The image was fit for a postcard. Wet and glistening, and colored a comforting green, the mountains were topped with blinding gold caps. _A strange place for a school_ , he thought to himself. Nestled somewhere within the bosom of those ancient monstrosities sat Beauxbatons. He knew a fair bit about the school and its almost immeasurable beauty, their students being much more forthcoming with information than those of Durmstrang. _If_ _it's as beautiful as they say, then maybe it belongs here after all._ A flock of birds rushed overtop the winding dirt path they were on, chirping their waking song and chasing each other through the air. Each step took them higher, and Harry could hear himself panting. His head was a touch dizzy, but much of its aching had faded, leaving only a dull pulsing that matched his heart.

Darkness slowly fell over them; the path having taken them into an area sheltered by towering trees, that filtered the sunlight into scattered yellow beams. They were isolated and cut off from the civilization they had left behind. Anyone looking in or out saw only rows of forest and its shaded cloak. A muggle would have walked through this section of trail without a second thought, following its twists and turns to a rocky cliff that looked over the valley below. But magic lurked deep in these mountains. From the trees to the leaves, to the moss and grass and roots below, each shifted and shimmered before their eyes. It was a mirage, melting together and never looking the same from one moment to the next. It was disorienting. But no sooner that his eyes began to swim in their sockets, did the forest fade behind them.

A royal blue carriage stood before them, gilded carvings of the fleur-de-lis weaving across its body like growing vines. It was large and cushioned, and pulled by a single brilliant white horse. Muscles rippled underneath its enormous wings as it shifted in its place drinking from a barrel of what Harry knew to be single malt whiskey. A smile split across his face.

They were off in a gallop and two mighty bursts from the Abraxan. Harry whooped, though the sound was lost in the cutting winds whipping over them. _I'm flying!_ He wanted to shout. It had been too long since he'd last felt the familiar burn of wind across his face, and had his hair swept wildly behind him. He was happy, for the first time in far too long.

The carriage was rattling, making a sound that was all together horrible, beautiful, and violent. Each joint was on the verge of being torn apart. If not for the magic piecing it all together, they would be in pieces. The white horse was gliding lazily, blending in with the moving clouds, its wings spread wide without a care in the world. Higher and higher it took them up the mountain. _We'll fly over them in a minute at this rate._ Each powerful flap sent the carriage shaking and lurching through the air, and threatened to thrust them up and out of their seats. Looking over its side and down below past the clouds, the mountainous landscape shot by in a greenish blur.

 _I wonder what would happen if I jumped off?_ It was a sudden sobering thought. And a mad urge to open the carriage door and let the next bump throw him out took hold of him. He'd fallen off his broom countless times, where the feeling of weightlessness and rushing air sent your stomach up to your throat, and you could feel the pressure of the approaching earth sink into your bones. He needed only a moment to think about it. A fall from this height would see him faint before he hit the ground. _At least I'd die with a smile on my face._

The carriage jumped with another beat of the Abraxan's wings, and suddenly the mountains were growing larger again. The clouds were above them, and dark green splotches and stripes of blue were separating into trees and fresh runoffs of mountain water. The air no longer slapped his face, but was now brushing it with delicate fingers. His thoughts of jumping vanished, and just off into the horizon a great plateau stretched at the joining of five great masses that loomed overhead. The mid-day sun caught something off into the distance, nearly blinding them in their approach. Rubbing his eyes until his vision cleared, Harry opened them to see the palace of Beauxbatons and its golden doors.

Dust flew up in a swirling cloud when they impacted the ground, choking the air. The landing was not near as clean as the takeoff, but they made it out of the carriage in one piece. Gravel crackled underfoot as Harry stepped off onto a narrow landing strip. It was surrounded in every direction by the palace's immaculately kept gardens. _It's almost too pretty_ , he thought taking it all in. He could feel the presence of Grindelwald at his side, hidden beneath his cloak. A gust of displaced air nearly knocked Harry over, and looking up he saw the Abraxan horse flying up and away, disappearing into the sky. In front of them a dozen feet away, an old man wearing queer white robes stood at the foot of a paved path.

"Monsieur Alic, a pleasure to meet you." He was old, very old, though what age Harry could not place. His skin hung from his face like a leathered sack, wrinkled and wind burnt, and the grip of his handshake was rather frail. "The students and Headmistress Maxime are assembled for lunch, I figured you would like to settle yourself in first before meeting them all." He turned and shuffled away with a stoop to his shoulders.

Harry jogged to catch up to the departing man, having not been given the opportunity to so much as reply. "Might I ask your name, sir?" _Can you tell me what the bloody hell is going on?_ The question remained unsaid.

Old eyes stared back at him. "You may call me Wulfric if you wish." He spoke dismissively, though there was something else in his voice.

Something hung over his head, unseen and just out of his grasp. It was the vital piece that would make sense of this puzzle that surrounded him. _It's clearly not his name… but why use one of Dumbledore's?_ Was it meant to make him trust the old man? Or was he simply being mocked? It was infuriating.

"Why are you lying to me?"

The man looked back to him, never slowing in his shuffles, and acted as though he was surprised. But Harry knew he was enjoying himself. "I did not lie. I said you may call me Wulfric, I never told you that was my name. I could give you a number of others, if that would please you. A name is just a name, whether false or true. You could be Wulfric if you wish, and I Alic, it matters not to me. Your visit is far more important than simple name calling, is it not?"

"It is," Harry replied curtly. _This visit could mean my life._ A bubble of something burst in his chest. Fear or hope? He couldn't be sure.

They'd passed rows and rows of neatly trimmed hedges, decorated with moving statues who posed for them as they stepped by. Some were tasteful and elegant, while others were downright vulgar. One carving of a wizard wider than he was tall, raised his robes and bent over in front of them, showing off the natural cushions he carried with him everywhere. The old man – Wulfric – chuckled to himself, finding it particularly humorous. _They don't have a gate,_ Harry noted with surprise. From the gravel strip to the golden doors of the palace, that were still some distance ahead of them, not a single obstruction stood in place hindering the impressive view of the school's grounds. It was not built for defense like Hogwarts was. _Then again, it's almost impossible to get up here in the first place._

"The Flamel fountains." The old man broke the silence that had been held between them. The largest fountain Harry had ever seen stood at the center of a courtyard they'd just entered. It rose from the ground like the shell of turtle emerging from the sea. Great pumps were gushing crystalline water from the mouths of seven species of dragon, carved likenesses of frightening realism. Smaller streams twirled upwards like ribbons, their droplets a shower of shining pearls. The swirling pool had a sheen to it as well, reflecting rainbows into the eyes of those who tried to gaze into its depths. "It is said to have healing properties, though none of my studies have found evidence to support this." _I could drink the whole damn thing and it wouldn't heal me,_ Harry thought.

He could still hear the splashing of water behind him by the time they were climbing the steps to the front of the palace. The golden doors of Beauxbatons glowed in front of him, before parting silently to permit their entrance. Cool air hit him like a slap in the face. He hadn't realized how warm it had been outside until now. It took a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust to the interior lighting. The halls looked as though they were decorated for royalty. Precious stones of amber and jade, jet and ruby and lapis lazuli were inlaid in the walls painted with golden finery. A fresco stretched endlessly across the ceiling, and between pillars of cut marble were vases nearly at a height with him. _This really is too much._ It hurt his eyes. Harry much preferred the cold stone of the strong, solemn walls of Hogwarts.

He could hear the distant chatter of students, but rather than lead them further into the heart of the palace, Wulfric stood by a whole in the wall where a pillar had previously been. "This way," he said, his voice echoing down the stairwell that led into a dark pit below. _Every school has its dungeons,_ Harry laughed to himself. The passageways worked just as they did in Hogwarts, taking them farther and faster than they had any right of doing. They were rats scurrying through the deep black, unseen, unheard, and unknown in the bowels of the palace. His nose caught the scent of something he could only describe as burnt. It grew stronger and more distinct as they continued to travel for what felt an eternity. Finally, keys clanked and a door swung open to reveal a laboratory.

Though a laboratory might not have been an apt way to describe what he walked in on. It was huge. Much larger than any laboratory had any right to be. The walls and ceilings were extended magically beyond a point he could begin to estimate. _I can see them, but if I walk I know I'll never reach them…_ It was breathtaking. Harry couldn't care less about the grounds or how pretty the castle looked, this was better than all of that. Strange instruments puffed with colored smoke, wheezing and sneezing, before spitting out strips of paper with strange numbers and letters and symbols. They reminded him of those that used to sit in Dumbledore's office, but these were far more intricate with thousands of tiny parts, and squarely put his to shame. A pit was dug out of the stone floor and filled with burning coals, on top of which lay a row of stones glowing from the heat. _At least I know what I was smelling,_ Harry considered as he sniffed. Though now a bold new stench wafted over, something old and rotted. Harry turned, his nose twitching, and wandered passed shelves overflowing with potions supplies and metallic tools. He stopped and stared, and his stomach gurgled. Hanging from red-stained hooks in the ceiling were rotting corpses, cut open and left hollow. And beyond that was what appeared to be a vault made of oily black stone. He stepped back queasy, not caring to find out any more about what was hidden away in this area.

He found Wulfric hovering over a grey-stone bowl heated by flashing purple flames. The man was spinning its contents with his wand, but stopped when he drew close, turning and staring at Harry. "I should kill you where you stand for all that you've done, and the pain you caused Albus." Harry's eyebrows shot up. _What!?_ His heart nearly stopped.

No, he realized his mistake, Wulfric was staring just off to the space beside him.

The air shimmered for a moment, and the cloak fell away to the floor, exposing Grindelwald. "Nicolas… we found ourselves at odds before we ever met. Can we not let old matters lie?"

"Old matters will lie when you are dead and buried in the ground, and I have spat at the foot of your grave."

Grindelwald frowned, and the two men stared at each other with faces as hard as granite. They were two old men, but there was power about them.

"Flamel?" Harry said, and the man formerly called Wulfric turned to him. "Dumbledore told me you were dying without your stone."

"Dying, yes. We all are. Though some of us much slower than others." There was a natural pause to his speech, but it stretched for much longer than it should have. Grindelwald had not been joking when he said time moved differently in regards to Flamel. Looking at the hunched little man, it was unbelievable to think that he'd lived for over six hundred years. But still, there was a spark of youth within him. "But without my stone? No." He eventually continued. "My stone is undamaged; it was my wife's you destroyed."

Harry's hair stood on its end under his ageless gaze. "What happened –"

"She's dead."

 _Oh,_ Harry thought. That was not good. "I'm –"

"Yes, yes," he said, cutting Harry off again. "Albus already passed on his apologies from the both of you. Though it was our fault to begin with." He turned his back on them and returned to stirring the contents of the bowl.

Harry bent to retrieve his cloak, but found that Grindelwald's hand was already on it. Harry tugged. He wouldn't let go. Harry tugged again, harder this time, and slowly it slipped from his clenched fingers. Flushed with anger, Harry looked to Grindelwald. But the man was staring daggers into the back of Flamel, oblivious to everything around him. Forcefully, Harry shoved the cloak back into his pocket, his hand hovering protectively over it.

Behind them, one of the stones roasting in the pit crackled and burst, oozing out a molten green liquid that fluoresced in the dungeon light. "Harry Potter." Hearing his name, Harry's attention was brought back to Flamel who was tossing fine powders into the purple flames. "For the love Albus held for you, I've agreed to this meeting. What is it that brought you to my doorstep?"

Harry swallowed, and a lone trickle of sweat wept down the base of his neck. "Before Dumbledore died…" Harry started, but stopped. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a slip of parchment. "Before he died, Dumbledore passed this on to me."

Flamel snatched the paper from his hand, surprisingly quick given his halting earlier movements. "He speaks about the Deathly Hallow," he said after reading. "I always did warn him against that foolish boy's dream." Grindelwald shifted beside him. "Without context, the rest means nothing to me I'm afraid."

Dread settled over Harry, icy and uncomfortable, as if someone had just poured cold water down his back. _Thump._ _Thump._ _Thump. Thump._ He could hear his heartbeat pounding through his ears. _Thumpthump_. His heart skipped, and a sickness filled his stomach. "Did Dumbledore ever speak to you of Horcruxes?"

The ancient man eyed him keenly. "I must admit, I did worry when Albus showed an alarming interest in the topic in recent years. Though he assured me he had no wish to live forever. I had good reason to believe him, given how he never once hinted at the desire of having his own stone over the decades we worked together. I was the one to provide him some literature on those unholy things."

 _Thump. Thump._ It was echoing in his skull. "Voldemort made them," Harry said.

"I had assumed so. I am not a man whose interests lay in the happenings of the world around me, but some news is difficult to miss: the rise of a dead man, the death of an old friend, and the escape of a rat from his own prison." His gaze was serene, but cut like daggers.

"He made seven of them," Harry spoke slowly, and Flamel nodded along. _Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump._ "And I'm –" Harry's voice caught in his throat, choking him as it clenched shut. _Thumpthump._ "I'm –" Again the words wouldn't form. _I'm a dead man._ He'd never said the words out loud before. If he did, would it make them real? "I'm… I'm one of them. I'm a horcrux." His hand unconsciously went to touch his scar.

Seconds passed by in silence, so long that he had lost track in counting. Perhaps it had been minutes. His chest was aching, and his scar was throbbing, and it felt as though the enchanted walls reversed, and were now closing in to crush him. _I need fresh air._ Panic was flooding his system, pumped by his heart and rushing through his veins instead of blood. Faster and faster his chest was rising and falling. _I need to fly._ The memory of riding the Abraxan pulled carriage came to mind, with the wind kissing his skin and the rush of freedom only flying could bring. He clamped down on the memory and others so much like it. They played like a film in his mind, forcing him to remember what it felt like to have a broom between his legs and chase the golden snitch. Slowly he felt his pulse begin to settle. Breathing came easier to him now. _I don't want to die,_ he wanted to weep, _please…_

Suddenly, it was as if steel encased his heart, hardening and taking away its feeling. He wouldn't let them hear him plead. He wouldn't let them see him weak. Straightening, his gaze met that of Flamel's.

"That is… unsettling," Flamel said, though his sagging face did not show it. He looked at Harry as though he was a particularly fascinating puzzle, his eyes gleaming with piqued curiosity. If he listened very carefully, Harry was certain he could hear the whirling of Flamel's mind. Or was it those silver instruments of his? "And you are asking me to find a way to save you?" He opened the slip of parchment, humming underneath his breath as he read it again, before storing it up his sleeve.

Harry nodded, feeling so small in that moment.

"A living horcrux? I've read through histories of possessed hosts, thralls chained to the whims of the master of the original soul, but this different. You aren't possessed are you?" Flamel had taken to pulling and prodding Harry's face, and tapped the scar with his forefinger as he spoke. "No? I didn't think so," he muttered to himself, taking a step back and peering at Harry through squinty eyes at different angles. "An accidental horcrux, the first in history… fascinating. Albus should have brought you to me ages ago. You would have been excellent for research." His voice was filled with reverence. Harry had to hold back the urge to flinch, his mind flashing to bloody hooks and hanging corpses swinging somewhere behind him in the lab. _This man is mad_ , and nothing could convince Harry otherwise. "To destroy a horcrux, you must destroy the anchor. But to destroy the soul itself and save the host…" Flamel turned to a desk and rummaged through a mountain of loose papers, none of which seemed to satisfy him. "Impossible." He finally said, and Harry could fell death's hands at his throat. "A word I have heard thrown about by scared men who are afraid of failure. It seems a unique and interesting project, and one I will take on."

Before Harry breathe his thanks, a high pitch scream, like that of a tea kettle burst out to their right. A puff of blue smoke was leaking from a spinning wheel of silver and gold, and through the cloud a white ball hurtled towards them. It stopped inches in front of Flamel's nose, and unfurled itself. "Ah, yes, it is time Wulfric brings his new charge to meet Headmistress Maxime." He snapped his fingers and the paper was incinerated. "It would not due to keep the lady waiting, Alic." With his white robes ruffling behind him, the alchemist shuffled over to his bowl and spooned out an inky sludge. "Come eat, we don't have all day."

Harry stared at the man as if he were crazy. _He is_ , he reminded himself."I'd rather not, sir."

"Yes, and I'd rather you not have broken my wife's stone. Would you deny an old man after that?" It jiggled as he moved. "You've certainly been fed worse, I assure you."

He lied. It was horrid. Whatever it was, it went down with a wet _slurp_ , and crawled up and down his throat as if it were alive and trying to escape. Grindelwald was silently laughing off to the side. Despite his best efforts, it refused to come back up, even after he heaved for the fourth time.

Finished with the slop, its bitter taste still sitting heavily in his throat, he turned to see Flamel reach into the coals and pull out one of the red-hot stones. _Stop!_ He wanted to yell. But the urge vanished with shock when he saw that the man's hand was unburnt. _Maybe it's not that hot._ But cinders could be seen falling from its glossy surface. Flamel came walking towards him, and reached for his face as if to poke Harry with his fingers again. Though it wasn't his finger this time. Pulsing in his leathery grip, he jabbed the stone into Harry's scar. His eyes flashed white, blinding him, and for a moment he was numb. And then the world burned.

 **AN:**

 **Another update! It seems as though the shorter chapters are working well for me.**

 **I'm glad many of you are enjoying my characterization of Grindelwald. He's a lot of fun to write! And I hope you'll like where that storyline ends up.**

 **The next chapter is already written. I don't know when I'll put it out, but I think you'll like it A LOT.**

 **EDIT: I apologize to some of the readers who might have noticed mistakes when initially reading the chapter. For some odd reason, FFN chopped up a few of my sentences and pieced them together randomly. All should be fine now.**


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 7 - Flight in the Night

Breakfast was not like it was at Hogwarts. He'd given it a week at first, thinking perhaps it had been an off day, but he was beyond sure at this point. It was all too light, with no substance. Too much cheese. Too much pastry. It left his stomach hollow and craving for the stacks of sausages of Hogwarts. _Ron would hate it here,_ Harry decided. But as he considered that, soft titters of laughter came floating over from a group of French girls in their sky blue robes. _Or… maybe not._ He shrugged to himself, and picked up another croissant.

Beauxbatons was enormous, and the number of students was almost overwhelming. Where much of the ancient castle of Hogwarts lay in disuse, every room in Beauxbatons seemed fit to burst. From what he could tell, the class sizes were near four times the size of his own. Beyond France, students came from Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, and the breakfast hall was filled with languages he did not understand. It was lonely in a way, an island in a foreign sea. His interactions with students were very limited – breakfast, lunch, dinner, and occasionally the library – but some would approach him simply to test out their English. _It's certainly better than how well my French has come along._ Flamel might well be a bottomless pit of knowledge, but he was no linguist. And for a man centuries old, his patience for some things ran quite short. _It could just be me,_ Harry considered _._ His slow progress was frustrating to no end, and it might have started rubbing off on the old man.

Reaching up, his fingers went to touch his scar. It had become a habit ever since he'd learnt the truth hidden behind its red and raw tissue. The skin was smooth and flawless. His hand brushed over his hair, silky to the touch when it had once grown tangled, shining gold in the morning light rather than black. _Alchemy…_ It was all still quite unbelievable. _He could have at least warned me._

The magic was raw and powerful and utterly unforgiving. Hooks raked into his flesh, pulling and tearing with white flashes of agony. Blind, he thought his face was melting. He could feel it bubble and drip like the hot wax of a burning candle. And the stone digging into his scar felt as though it was burrowing through his skull and into his brain. It was a nightmare. _I thought he killed me. Put me out of my misery._ But his vision returned, and the dripping wax of his face hardened into mask. A mask he didn't recognize. Gold spun hair, a fatty face, and murky blue eyes. _The eyes… the eyes are what I miss the most._ He was a plain, unassuming young man. Shorter than Harry Potter, without any of his scars, and plump from an easy life and a significant lack of exercise.

Harry had been a hair away from killing the alchemist when he woke. But Flamel simply stood smiling, proud of his work. In truth, it was incredible. Looking in a mirror, he wasn't Harry Potter, but Alic the British history student and apprentice to Wulfric. Maxime had been sold. The half-giantess welcomed him to the school with practiced kindness, before excusing herself to deal with other more important matters. Not for a moment did she suspect who stood before her. And how could she? It was Alic.

Harry couldn't begin to understand or try to explain the magic Flamel had mastered over centuries of experimentation and study. Compared to creating the Philosopher's Stone, this must have seemed a simple exercise in comparison. It went beyond human transfiguration and the temporary effects of Polyjuice Potion. It was as if he was wearing a face that wasn't his own. Permanent, undetectable, and irreversible.

 _I could live the rest of my life as Alic and Voldemort would never know._ It was not the first time he'd thought of such. It was tempting, too tempting in truth, and at times Harry hated himself for his dark desire to leave Harry Potter and his fate behind. _Alic isn't the Chosen One. I could work with Nicolas Flamel, dive into the depths and mysteries of magic, spending my days learning, researching, and experimenting. I could learn French, buy a house, have a family. No one would ever know. I wouldn't have to die._

But who would die for him? That was the question that ultimately held him back. It was what stopped him from embracing Alic. How many would Voldemort kill? Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Molly, names and faces flashed before his eyes. He would leave them to die. What of those who died for him? Susan, Sirius, Dumbledore, his father and his mother. _I can't fail them._ He fought the tears pricking at his false blue eyes. _What's happened to me?_ He wanted to shout. _I've never been a coward._

 _But you're a dead man,_ that same horrid voice whispered with the tongue of a serpent.

A rough scrape and scratching sound cut above the general calm of the dining area. He could feel the pressure of hundreds of eyes turn to him. Ignoring them, Harry bulled his way through a set of swinging doors.

Everything around him was unfamiliar. The silent airy hallways where students would only whisper, the ostentatious show of wealth at each turn, and the sea of unfamiliar faces shifting and changing and blurring all together. He felt lost. Where were the groups of children gossiping too loudly? The hallway duels and obnoxious pranks? The banter between houses and the endless complaints of teachers and homework?

He didn't know where to go. He didn't know the school – its nooks and crannies and secrets. There was no Marauder's Map of Beauxbaton. It was warm and cramped and cluttered, unlike the cool expansive hallways of Hogwarts. Oddly enough, he found himself missing the meaningless chatter of the moving portraits. _If Sir Cadogan is making me nostalgic, then I've really gone barmy._

The sun beat against his back as it climbed in the sky. The fresh air of the mountain was refreshing after hours spent inside the palace, and even more so the dungeons. An endless feeling of fatigue had taken to following him like a shadow, but now, outdoors, he could feel new life surge through his tired muscles.

A beaten dirt track branched off the main trail that took the students to their Creatures class at the foot of the mountains. Brown dust kicked up from his feet as he found himself walking the path towards a large wooden stable and paddock. Grazing freely across the green grass were a herd of Abraxan horses. One of them came up and nuzzled against Harry's side, likely searching for some sort of snack, but their tastes were much too refined for something Harry might be carrying in his pocket. When he first happened across the herd, he'd looked for the broad shouldered courser that carried him up the mountain, but wasn't able to find it. Though the remainder of the Abraxan horses had come to know him over his visits. It was a stretch of calm, where he could isolate himself from his troubles. He could enjoy the warmth of another magical being, and feel its breath puffing against his cheeks. A lazy smile spread across his face.

Time would pass quickly here. Staring up at the drifting clouds, seconds would blend to minutes, and minutes into hours. Only here, in this peaceful refuge, sheltered by the hulking bodies of the Abraxans, did he dare let his mind think of Fleur.

 _Live and love_ , Dumbledore had told him with his dying words. But why was it so difficult to do so? He was failing both, and he wasn't sure where along the way he went wrong. _I never had a chance._ It was true. For so long in his life, he soaked in grief and shouldered the blame for things beyond his control. But this was something he had to accept. _I was destined to die the moment the curse hit me, and Fleur… I couldn't have known what she was._ It had been too easy to love her. She was strong, and talented, and beautiful. Fierce and soft, a maddening combination that boiled his blood with desire. She understood him like very few could, both the good and the bad. _But how much of that was actually her?_ Where did Fleur begin, and where did the spy end? The two seemed so similar that he wasn't sure which one he'd fallen in love with. _It was Fleur._ It had to be.

She'd said she had come to love him. _She wanted me to come with her._ He remembered that clearly, the honesty in her pale blue eyes, and the shattering of his heart when he apparated away. _Would she recognize me now,_ he thought pulling at his blonde hair, _would she see Harry or would she see Alic._ He wondered how far her home was from here, she'd said she grew up in the south of France. _Did she sit where I'm sitting, and visit these horses?_ He knew they were silly thoughts, but he could afford that here.

He thought of that Christmas night where he'd given her his gift, and when her lips were soft velvet on his own. He'd betrayed the Weasleys in that moment. Bill had thought her his fiancé, and he stole a kiss from her under the roof of his childhood home. Disgust should have been coiling in his gut, but instead he felt a rush of satisfaction and pleasure. _I wish we'd done more._ It was a selfish thought, but if there ever was a time for them, it was now. _I'll be dead before we see each other again._

It was then that he heard a scuff of stone, and his eyes opened from their daze. Perhaps it had been a deeper sleep then he realized, because he woke and found himself still dreaming. Pale blond hair, near silver, was shimmering in the early sunlight. He could see her walking towards him, pale and pretty. A soft, shy smile quirked at the end of her lips. "Fl…" He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped before the words could fully sound. It wasn't her. She was too small, too thin, and girlish in ways that Fleur was not. But he knew her all the same. _It's hard to forget someone you pulled out of a lake,_ Harry laughed to himself.

"Bonjour." Gabrielle's hand shot out in an unsure wave."Madame Maxime zought eet would be nice eef someone joined you wiz ze 'orses." Her English was not as refined as Fleur's, and her accent was very pronounced. Gabrielle walked slowly around to the open gate, and tentatively made her way forward. _She's nervous,_ Harry noticed, and patted the ground next to him.

A gentle brush of color filled her cheeks. "I'm Gabrielle," she said, crossing her legs beside him.

 _I know, I'm Harry Potter. You know me,_ he wanted to say but couldn't. "Alic, it's nice to meet you Gabrielle."

It was quiet, only the huffing of horses between them. Gabrielle fidgeted with the end of her skirt, and Harry eventually took pity on her. "So it was your Headmistress that sent you after me?" Harry wondered why that was.

"Madame said zat you come out 'ere often…" She paused and looked up to him. There wasn't a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Blue ones, though darker than Fleur's. "Ze horses, zey like me because I am part Veela. She zought zat maybe you would like to know more about zem." One of the horses leaned over then and sniffed her hair as if to prove her point. It licked her cheek with a long tongue, sending Gabrielle into a fit of childish giggles.

"But you're only a first year… aren't you?" Harry caught his mistake quickly. _You don't know her_ , he reminded himself. "You don't learn about creatures until later."

"Een our third year." She nodded, bouncing slightly on the soft grass with the movement. "But Madame let me visit zem zis year. I 'ave an older seester who used to go 'ere, Fleur." Harry fought to keep any reaction at bay. "When I was too leetle to come, Fleur would tell me ze stories of ze 'orses wiz big white wings. She said zat eet was always quiet 'ere, and a good place to do mes devoirs…" A cheeky look danced in her bright eyes. Cupping her hands, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "and to sleep too _._ " Her face was alive with mischief, blushing as if she had just said something scandalous. Harry couldn't help but smile.

Feeling more comfortable with herself, Gabrielle reached into her pocket and pulled out brown ball that fluttered to life. It buzzed in the air, jerking in what was made to appear as random direction. But to the trained eye, one could see beyond the pattern. _It's going left,_ Harry predicted. Gabrielle went right and snatched at empty air. Her face scrunched with a tiny frown. _Down._ It went down, and so did Gabrielle, but not quick enough. The wooden orb bounced off the tips of her fingers. Harry laughed, and Gabrielle glared at him, before setting herself for her next attempt. _She's got determination, I'll give her that. Up and to the right._ He knew where Gabrielle was going before she even moved. She went down, and it went flying over her shoulder. _Needs a bit of work on her concentration though._ She made her first catch four attempts later. She went left even before the snitch did, and it skimmed directly into her hand. Her smile was blinding and infections, and so big you'd have thought she won the World Cup. Slowly, he watched her catch more and more, picking up on its pattern. A true snitch was near random, enchanted almost to have a mind of its own. Only the very best seekers in the world could occasionally predict its erratic movements. This was not a true snitch, only a carved toy.

Flushed, with sweat sticking strands of hair to her face, Gabrielle took a break and let the snitch float by her head. "A gift?" Harry asked, already knowing it was.

"Oui!" She looked so happy. "Eet was a Christmas gift… from 'Arry Potter." _I know, I remember buying it,_ he almost said. But suddenly, the smile slipped from her face. Her lips were trembling, and she moved to hide her eyes.

"What happened?" Harry was troubled by her sudden shift in demeanor. He moved to touch her, but halted awkwardly and brought his hand back. Alic didn't know her well enough for that. Harry did.

"Ze n-newspapers," she sniffled while trying to speak, "zey s-s-say zat… 'e eez dead."

Harry froze.

"They think I – that he's dead?" He felt almost dizzy. It was the strangest feeling, and one he couldn't begin to put into words.

"Z-zey say zhat… _le monstre_ … Voldemort killed 'im. Madame deed not want us to find out, but I 'eard some of ze older students say zat zhere was a fight at Hogwarts." She burst into tears then, and Alic or no, Harry pulled her to his side. Gabrielle pushed her head deeper into his shoulder. "Maman and Papa are worried," she said some time after her tears had dried. "Weez Grindelwald and Voldemort, zey don't know eef we are safe. And Fleur…" Gabrielle was shaking. "Fleur does not answer my letters when I ask about 'Arry."

Harry squeezed her thin shoulders, though his heart sank to the darkest of depths. _Of course she doesn't. It was all a beautiful lie was it not?_ His earlier thoughts seemed only a childish fantasy.

"Deed you know 'im?" She asked, taking Harry by surprise.

"I…" Harry was unsure how to answer. _Do I know him? I am him._ Though saying that now would be utterly foolish.

"I met 'im once," Gabrielle continued before Harry could start. "'Arry saved me. Eet was ze Triwizard Tournament, and zey put me under a lake. 'Arry pulled me out when 'e deed no 'ave to." _Of course I had to. You were… are only a girl._ It was only after the fact that he'd found out they weren't in any danger."And zen 'e won ze entire tournament, beating Fleur and ze ozzer boys even though 'e was only fourteen. 'Arry was an hero."

"I… I never had the chance to meet him." Harry finally said, lamely. "I graduated from Hogwarts before he started." Her shoulders slumped. It clearly wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry." She sounded genuinely sad. "Fleur used to tell me zat one day she would bring 'Arry home so zat I could meet 'im and be friends wiz 'im. Maman and Papa said d'accord, when I asked zem eef he could come visit. Now… now I will never 'ave ze chance to tell him merci for saving me."

A clocked chimed, reverberating across the open air, and together they looked up into the distance. "J'ai le Transfiguration maintenant," Gabrielle said, wiping at her eyes, "je m'excuse…" she trailed off in French, forgetting herself. Rushing away, almost too quickly, she sent him one last watery smile over her shoulder.

Harry let out a deep breath, the emotion almost overwhelming him. He watched her disappear down the dirt path and in the direction of the school, and only then did he let a tear fall free from his eye. He'd come here for peace, and found only distress.

She'd cried for him. She cried for Harry Potter. The thought made his throat close upon itself. _She thinks I'm dead. The world too._ He'd left without word on purpose, to prevent others from following him. He'd kept Kreacher and Dobby away specifically for that reason. If the papers called him a traitor or a coward, he would understand. But that he died? _How did it come to that?_ Movement could be heard ahead of him, and for a moment he thought Gabrielle had come back for some reason.

She hadn't. "Get up." It was Grindelwald standing in his grey robes, leaning on the wooden fence. "Up, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid your flower's sister isn't returning. Busy weeping her way to class I would assume."

Harry remained seated and stared through narrowed eyes, glad that his lone tear had long since dried. "How did you get here?" Harry might have looked like Alic, but Grindelwald remained the same. The man refused to have his appearance altered, and Harry had a newfound surge of protectiveness surrounding his cloak.

His lips lifted into a smile. "Even without a wand I have my fair share of tricks. Only a fool would think I am helpless when unarmed." He spoke with a casual arrogance that Harry despised. There was nothing he wanted more at times then to spit in his face. "But I followed the girl after hearing where she was sent. A pretty girl in truth, I can see why you desire her sister."

Harry shot to his feet, the sensitivity of his emotional state releasing a surge of rage.

"Ah, now you listen. It always takes just a little bit of pushing for you, doesn't it Mr. Potter." He said calmly, not moving.

Blood came rushing into his head with immense pressure, and he saw red. Scratchy material filled his fist, as he lifted Grindelwald in the air by his collar. "I'll kill you right now if you say another word about her! I swear it!" He shouted in his face, but Grindelwald gazed down from his grip implacable. "I don't care what you or Dumbledore planned. I'll bloody well do it!" He thrust him back and turned away, running his hand through his blonde hair. Its silky feeling only made him angrier.

"You have a spine after all. I'd begun to worry." Grass crunched several feet behind him. The herd of Abraxan horses shied away from them following his outburst. "Transfigure me something."

Harry sighed with his anger still stirring, not in the mood for a lesson. He drew his wand anyway, knowing it wasn't a request he could deny. Twisting out of the ground with a long sweep of his wand, one of the wooden poles snapped and stretched before settling into a long bench decorated with carved flowers. Grindelwald approached it, his eyes sharp in their examination as he tapped it in places with his fingers. "Next," he said, "and do try something above the level of a child." The bench shifted into the shape of a giant cat, just as golden fur came sprouting from its wooden pores and it took a halting first step. A lion snarled low and dangerous, prowling towards Grindelwald who glanced towards him. "Flashy, Mr. Potter, but something more intricate if you will. Next." In an instant, the predator was gone and a chess set sat in its place. Finely cut pieces were shaped in black and white marble, studded with twinkling gemstones. Grindelwald picked one up, twisted it around in his hand, and tapped it gently against another piece. "Next." His wand beat like a heart. The chess set melted into one, before sprouting upwards into a hunchbacked pawn near four feet in height. Grindelwald eyed it curiously, and moved to step forward. Just as McGonagall had done in Harry's first year, the pawn pulled a stone sword from its scabbard and stopped him short. Grey-blue eyes watched him closely. "Next." With a violent twist of his wrist, the pawn grew into a hulking form. Blazing in his grip to the point of blistering, he nearly dropped his wand. Two white wings sprouted from its back, and the stone construct went to join its cousins, though with a visible limp to its gait.

"Stop." Grabbing the horse by its mangled back leg, Grindelwald tore at the twisted limb, shattering it into flying shards of stone. A horrific screech pierced the air, forcing Harry to cringe as he watched it stumble pathetically to the ground. The earth shook beneath their feet with the mad stamping of the rest of the herd who looked on in horror. "You fight the wand."

"It burned me," Harry bit through the pain. Opening his hand, it was red and raw.

"I know the feeling of the wand. You are fighting it." From the ground beside them, the horse continued to moan pitifully. "The wand gives you power, and you complain of it hurting you." He spat in disgust. "And shut that thing up, before I am tempted to snap off some more." Harry waved his wand, and a wooden stake lay silent and still in the grass.

"Tell me," Grindelwald started again, pacing the grounds with his arms behind his back. "Were you capable of such things before?"

 _He already knows the answer._ "No." Harry told him anyway.

"Yet a wizard, not having even reached his majority, is capable of feats of transfiguration that would please some masters. What is that if not power from the wand?" His eyes were filled with desire, and fixed solely on the Deathly Hallow. "To bring life to your creations, to conjure storms that shake the earth, to send down hellfire that leaves behind only smoldering ruins, requires power. And the wand is power."

"A wand is only the tool of the wizard who holds it," Harry found himself saying. Though he wasn't sure if he believed his own words.

"That is the sort of drivel you here from a wandmaker trying to sell their product," Grindelwald snorted to himself. "Those who delve into the deeper mysteries of magic know that is not the case. And _that_ is no ordinary wand."

Harry knew he spoke true, remembering the effect of the brother wands, and how this one saved his life from Lena.

Grindelwald ambled over to the Abraxans, who shuffled away in fright. All, save one. It trotted over without fear, and with an odd sense of familiarity. From the pocket of his robes, Grindelwald pulled out an apple that appeared to be coated and shining with real gold. The horse took it into its mouth greedily, as Grindelwald stroked its long flowing mane and whispered into its ear.

"The wand fills you with that power," he said, turning back to face Harry. "Embrace it. The longer you resist what it offers you, the longer you will burn for it. You wish to have any chance of defeating Voldemort? Then your hope lies in the wand. Let it rush through your veins, and let no one stand before you."

Harry looked down to where it was tingling his fingers, sparking like static. _Was I always meant to have this? Is this the power Voldemort knows not? What about the rest of the Hallows?_ They were questions he did not have an answer to.

"But power always comes with sacrifice. The wand will consume you. It will take what it can, and still want more. And you will crave for it all the same. Its power will become as much a part of you, as itself. No wand will ever bond with you again after feeding upon its corruption. Are you prepared for that?"

 _It's why he still doesn't have one,_ Harry realized. In the weeks that had passed, Grindelwald had ample opportunity to find a new wand. But he remained as bare as in his tower.

Harry tightened his grip around the elder wand. Grindelwald's lips pulled into a smile, watching him. "Yes," he laughed, "guard it closely." Stepping onto the path, and turning one last time, he said, "When you've made your choice, our lessons can truly begin."

It was hours later that he returned to the palace, his mind a storm. The sky was falling with vibrant colors that painted a pretty picture above Beauxbatons. _It's all fake_. Bitterness stung his tongue. _Life is too ugly for a place like this._ It was filled only with terrible truths and impossible choices. But somehow they seemed to fall all on him. He passed through the hallways like a ghost, forgotten and unnoticed, only the odd student even glancing in his general direction. _They don't know all I've done. All I still have to do._ Would anyone know in the end? Who would tell his story, Grindelwald? Harry hoped not. Perhaps Flamel might make a passing note about him, buried somewhere in the mountain of his research. What would be said about Harry Potter?

' _Arry was an hero…_ Gabrielle's fragile voice echoed in his mind. Would people remember him fondly? _Impossible,_ he shook his head. The man who fled Britain. The man who let his friends die. The man who robbed the life of an innocent woman. The man who freed Grindelwald. The man who couldn't find love. The-Boy-Who-Lived, only to die at the end of his story. _A hero…_

Flamel's laboratory was unbearably hot and stuffy, sweat slickened his skin the moment he entered. In the great pit once filled with burning coals, a fire roared, basking the room in its furnace breath. It must have been shooting twenty feet in the air. The alchemist was a tiny speck of white glowing orange and gold. He fed the flames powders and potions that sent them twisting into monstrous shapes and flashing different colors. _How is he not a melted puddle on the ground?_ Magic was the answer, but not a satisfying one. His eyes were watering from the brimstone, and each step sent him coughing up smoke. Flamel took notice of him when he was feet away, and rushed to pull him off to the side.

"Alic, I can't have you contaminating my work." He spoke as though annoyed. _I hate how he uses that stupid name._ "The magic of the horcrux must not come near the purifying flames."

"That is supposed to help me?" It was burning so bright that Harry could only look at the blaze for a moment. "What, am I supposed to walk in there?"

Flamel looked unamused. "You could if you wanted. It would save me the trouble of trying to keep youalive while destroying the soul."

"What is it then?" Harry asked.

 _It's Alchemy,_ he predicted. "It's Alchemy," Flamel said. Harry made a face. _It's always his damn answer._

"And what is Alchemy?" He ground out through his teeth, going through their usual routine.

"An art you will never understand." Flamel answered, just as Harry knew he would. Often times Harry wondered if it wasn't just Flamel being a prick, but that he'd simply forgotten they'd had this conversation numerous times. _He is pushing seven hundred…_

"Can you at least explain how this… _Alchemy…_ might help save my life."

"The purifying flames are not a solution. They are only a step in the process." His sagging face quivered, and his tone was bored, as if he had better things to do then explain himself to a bothersome teen. Which in fact, he did. _My life to be exact._ "I have gone over revisions of my earlier failures, and have drawn new inspiration. The flames were an integral part in the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, and I plan on using their properties to create something similar – though altogether unique. Rather than a stone that sustains your life force, I wish to generate a stone that anchors your life force."

"That's a horcrux." Harry's voice was ice cold. It was a wonder frost didn't build along the metal tools on the desk beside them.

Flamel waved him away dismissively. "Attempts have been made to anchor life by some method or another throughout history. Horcruxes are not unique in that regard. What makes a horcrux, is the act of tearing one's own soul. My stone, if done correctly, is a tether that will latch on to the entirety of the soul, keeping it whole. Though it is much more complicated than that, and there are countless variables I need to account for. There is still the matter of which soul it will latch on to, yours or Voldemort's. And there is the meaning behind Dumbledore's letter as well. Albus was a brilliant and worthy partner, and had he requested a stone of his own I would have likely made him one. His mind was a work of art, cunning and quick, and always kept sharp. But he was a deeply emotional man as well, old and tortured even when he was young, often hiding his pain behind metaphors and clever word play. He thought the Hallows important. But why, is lost to his usual mystery." Flamel returned to stoking his flames.

Harry lay on the bed in his cramped room that evening, twisting and turning with the day's events. He could still hear the crackling of the flames Flamel had kept burning well into the night. It was hot and noisy, and he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. He could blame it on anything he wanted, but deep down Harry knew what was keeping him up. Wrestling with himself, he was unsure if he was making the right choice. Though in truth, his mind was already made.

Pushing out of his sweat soaked covers, and padding across the floor, he approached Flamel who looked to be hunched over asleep at his desk. The man turned at the sound of skin sticking to stone. A frown was on his face, a pencil in his hand, and ink covered parchment was spread out underneath his arm. _He's working, not sleeping,_ Harry corrected himself. _The man never sleeps._ It was unsettling how unnatural the little old man sitting before him was.

"What is it you'd like, Alic?" Flamel asked.

"Do you know where Grindelwald is?" Harry went straight to the point.

"He's left." The man returned to his scribbling.

"Where to? I'd like to speak to him."

"What about?"

 _I don't think it's really any of your business_ , he wanted to say. "About something we spoke of earlier today. Can you tell me where he went?"

"It would be rather difficult," he tutted, blowing lightly on the drying ink. "He's left the school."

 **AN:**

 **A few days sooner then when I initially thought of posting this, but here it is. I hope you all enjoyed it!**

 **Let me know your thoughts on the new pieces introduced to the story, and how you feel it will all pan out. Your reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated, and serve as a great source of motivation for me to keep at my current pace. The plot only thickens from here.**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 8 - Une Petite Surprise

The library of Beauxbaton was open and airy, and filled with green plants that crawled up the shelves. It felt more like a garden then some grand repository of knowledge. Natural light pooled in through heavy crystal panes that made up much of the walls and ceilings. Harry could feel gentle beads of sweat dotting across his skin. With each passing day of Spring the sun grew hotter, and the body of Alic was not accustomed to these warmer temperatures. He'd taken to carrying around a small handkerchief to wipe at his brow, and at times he reminded himself of Professor Slughorn.

The words and letters in front of him blurred. His eyes were tired, and he'd already given up trying to read near an hour ago. It didn't bother him all that much, given he could only understand half of what was written on the old parchment. _Flamel never told me it would be even harder to read._ He snapped the book shut. Harry's French had gradually improved, but piecing together lines of text and the strange accents that went along with it, with the sounds that left people's mouths was an entirely different challenge. And one he found equally as frustrating, if not more so. _Would it kill Maxime to stock the shelves with a few more books in English?_ Harry liked to complain, though he understood it wouldn't have made much a difference. He wasn't in the library for pleasure, and the tomes he searched for likely wouldn't have been translated for some light afternoon reading. _And my partner in crime has given up on me…_

Asleep across from him, and looking like a little angel, was Gabrielle. Her hair formed a silver pillow around her head, each puff of breath sending it fluttering in front of her nose and mouth. Ever since their run-in at the stables a month back she had taken a liking to Alic. _Merlin knows why… I made her run away crying._ But that was Harry, not Alic, and Gabrielle could not tell the difference. It was a shy stalking at first, peeping at him curiously but too afraid to speak. Six days passed before she gathered the courage to talk to him again, and now she followed him around like a pet. _Or am I the pet?_ It was hard to tell the difference at times. The girl was spoiled and sweet, bratty as well, but undeniably cute all the same.

Harry had taken her on as Alic's personal translator (not for the darker texts obviously). The girl seemed to enjoy their time together, and she proved to be a wealth of knowledge… as well as a much better French teacher than Flamel. But still, she wasn't yet even a teenager, and her attention span had its limits. A soft snore escaped her lips in that moment.

Harry chuckled under his breath, and waved his wand sending several of the books stacked in front of him back to their shelves. He'd had enough reading about earthen charms, and so had Gabrielle from the looks of things. The small folded corner of a book could be seen sticking out beneath her arm. _She must have been even more bored than usual,_ he felt almost sorry for taking advantage of her time. Clearing away the rest of the desk, his eyes kept flicking back to her book, and curiosity got the better of him. Slipping it out beneath her sleeping form, and doing his best not to disturb her, Harry saw a colorfully draw rabbit hopping up and down and across the page. It was a children's book. Flicking through, simply enjoying the illustrations that danced before his eyes, Harry stopped on a page near the end of the book.

"L'histoire des Trois Frères." It read across the top in black ink that dripped from the letters like blood. Clearly it was meant to frighten children. Settling in his seat, and shooting another glance to the still sleeping Gabrielle, Harry read it through – forgetting that it was written in French. The story pulled him in, even though he'd heard it once before. The eeriness behind the words and the way the tale was masterfully crafted by someone talented with the pen was far better than the bone-dry breakdown Grindelwald had given him. Reading this now, with all the embellishment that made it so enjoyable, Harry could see how it was thought to only be a fantasy meant to teach children a lesson. But they were real. _I have all three._ The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

The Hallows bestowed by Death. Harry was unsure over the truth of their origin – it was likely to have been built up as legend through the foggy lens of time. But the story spoke of other truths: the bloody history of the elder wand, the tragedy of the stone, and the wisdom of the cloak passed down through generations. The power behind them was real. He'd felt it the moment he first touched the cloak, and the wand was now as much a part of him as he was of it. It was the stone he knew the least about. _Three turns of the stone, is that really all it needs?_ With it he could see his parents again, and Sirius. He wouldn't have to be alone. He could ask Dumbledore what all of this meant. _But it says they would suffer…_ It was the thought that stilled him. Could he pull them back only to cause them more pain? Those who had done so much for him. _Would I be able to stop after doing it once?_ Harry's mind went back to Dumbledore's box of memories, and the countless times he'd entered the pensieve just to catch a glimpse of their smiling faces. _I'd go mad… and madness might just be worse than death._

"Alic?" Harry turned to see Gabrielle looking at him through dazed and half-lidded eyes. His hand was hovering near the mokeskin pouch around his neck, and quickly shot to his side. "Deed you lose my page?"

It took Harry a moment to understand what she was asking. Then it clicked. "Oh," he let out a breathy, awkward laugh. "Here, I saved it for you." Indeed, he had. Harry made sure to keep his finger in place until Gabrielle had it back in her grasp.

She shot him a curious look. "I do not like zat story."

"The three brothers?"

"Oui." Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. "Eet eez too sad, and Death eez… eez…" She was struggling to find the right word.

"Creepy?" Harry supplied. Gabrielle nodded, and went back to reading the story with the bouncing rabbit. He watched her in silence for a period. "Which gift would you have chosen?" Harry asked, unsure as to why the question felt so important.

The little girl grabbed at her chin as she thought, staring off into nothing particular. Seconds stretched into minutes, and a small frown was budding across her brow as time passed. A smile suddenly sprouted on her face as she reached what seemed to be a satisfying answer. "I would peek ze cloak." She bounced in her seat and giggled. "Zat way I could sneak les bonbons wizzout Maman and Papa knowing, and I would not 'ave to blame eet on Fleur."

Harry shook his head, unsure of what else he possibly could have been expecting from a child. _Did you really think she would say the stone or the wand, and make you feel any better?_ He felt a fool.

A clock rang deep and loud, echoing between the bookshelves, and signalling the start of lunch. Gabrielle quickly scurried off with her tangled silver hair trailing behind her like a cape, but not before she made him promise to join her in a few minutes. The library was largely empty as he returned the rest of his books, most of which turned out to be useless, and he wondered why he decided to come here in the first place. If he wanted anything of substance, he could have simply looked through Flamel's extensive collection. _It's because of Gabrielle._ He knew the truth of it, but didn't want to accept it. _She reminds me of Fleur._ Gabrielle was the last connection he had with her.

He could hear the chatter of students before he even entered the dining hall. Students were clumped together, speaking in hushed voices that were both too loud and too animated to be considered whispers. It reminded him of when an exciting piece of gossip reached the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Searching through the sea of blue uniforms for Gabrielle, Harry noticed that Madame Maxime's seat remained unoccupied. Between bowed heads, and hidden partially by crowded shoulders, Harry could just barely glimpse what had caught the attention of Beauxbatons – newspapers. A strange pressure bore down on his shoulders. It no longer reminded him of Hogwarts gossip, but something much darker. It was all too similar to the heart wrenching mornings where students would wait in fear for the Daily Prophet to break its news.

He saw Gabrielle before she did him, the little girl practically crawling on top of a platter of sandwiches to see the paper. It was an older student, likely his own age, who was holding the paper and talking to his friends with wide eyes and a hint of fear. Finally, being able to catch sight of the front page, Harry decrypted the article underneath. _No._ Was his first thought. _No, no, no._ He skimmed it over again. _I must have read that wrong. Surely._ His stomach was lodged in his throat, making every breath a queasy one. "He didn't…"

"He deed!" Harry was caught off guard, not realising he'd spoken out loud. It was the older boy holding the paper who spoke, looking up at him with big brown eyes. "It says zat he broke into Durmstrang. Zey do not know eef any are dead, but many are injured."

Harry wanted to slap his boyish face and scream at him that he was wrong, but he couldn't. The truth was staring directly at him. Grey-blue pits sitting in a young man's face that managed to look both handsome and ugly at the same time. The snarl spread across his lips and the blood speckling his right side might have had something to do with that. He might not look like this now, but Harry had spent enough time with the man to know this was Grindelwald. And if that wasn't enough, the name spelt across in bold black print told him the rest. Though the school itself was not photographed, even in tragedy sticking to its strict privacy.

 _He attacked Durmstrang. Why?_ It made no sense to Harry. _He vanishes without a trace in the night, with no word for over a month… and then he does this?_ The first stirrings of rage could be felt waking within him. And then it was washed out with guilt. _I did this._ The realization hit him like a train. _I freed him. These people were hurt because of me._ He felt sick.

The doors to the dining area snapped open, catching the attention of every individual in the room. Tall and elegant, and oddly beautiful, Madame Maxine walked in with a face that looked to be chipped from ice. Filing in behind her were a mass of witches and wizards dressed in familiar green-robes. Harry's grip tightened around his wand. There were twelve of them, he counted, and Maxime stood at the center towering over them all. "I am under the impression that you all have heard the news." A rich, deep blast of French filled every corner of the room. "The escaped Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald attacked Durmstrang Institute of Magic sometime yesterday morning." Maxime paused as if she herself couldn't believe what she was saying. The entirety of the dining hall was dead silent. "The reason for his attack is unknown, as is the extent of the damage done, but the ICW is currently investigating the matter." She gestured to a well-muscled wizard standing to her side, who wore the harshest scowl Harry had ever seen in his life. "The ICW _insisted_ ," she stressed the word, clearly not pleased with their interference, "on preventative action in the case Grindelwald turns his attention on our fine institution. Classes will continue as scheduled."

The hall burst into fevered discussions as Maxime swiftly turned and exited the hall. All of the ICW officers followed, save one. The wizard with the scowl stood still as stone, scouring the hall with hawk-like eyes as black as pitch. His gaze stopped where Harry stood, and the man marched steadily in his direction. The blue sea of students parted in front of him, and Harry readjusted the grip on his wand. He stopped several feet in front of Harry, before abruptly dropping to his knees. "Vell, little one, I told you I vould visit one day." His voice was thick and hard and familiar. And he was speaking to Gabrielle.

"Viktor!" She squeaked, throwing her thin arms around his shoulders. _Viktor Krum?_ The man in question let out a rumbling laugh that sounded like boulders rolling down a cliff.

"It has been a very long time since ve have seen eachother." His smile looked strange on his face, almost as if it didn't belong. That was when Harry knew it was him. Viktor was taller now, stretched out of his stocky body, and surer of foot on solid land than ever before. But he wore the same scowl, and had the same aquiline nose. He looked older, much older. _It's because of Grindelwald,_ he knew. The news of his escape must have hit him hard. _And here I am. The man who let him free._

"I have a surprise for you," he said in a low voice. "But you must vait until I am done with vork first, before I bring it to you."

Gabrielle could hardly contain her excitement, bouncing on the spot as if it were physically hurting her to wait. Viktor patted her lightly on the head, before standing back up with his characteristic frown. Students were gaping at him from all directions. _They've never seen Viktor Krum before._ Harry remembered Viktor getting the same treatment at Hogwarts, and had to stifle a laugh knowing how much the Bulgarian hated it all.

Looking up, Harry saw Krum staring at him curiously. A long second passed, before he turned his gaze and marched out of the room.

Gabrielle came rushing over to him with that infectious smile of hers. "Deed you 'ear? Veektor said zat zere is a surprise for me?" The words came out of her mouth in a babbling stream. "Do you zink eet eez a broom? I 'ope eet eez a broom. Maybe Veektor can teach me 'ow to fly so zat I can race un dragon like 'Arry. I can show 'im my snitch and 'ow I can catch eet almost all ze time."

Harry nodded along, though his mind was miles elsewhere. _What did Grindelwald want with Durmstrang?_ It had been important enough for him that he broke into a fortress of a school, if rumours were to be believed.

"You weel tell 'im won't you?" Gabrielle was looking up at him with pleading blue eyes.

"Tell him what?" Harry had missed what she said.

"Tell Veektor zat I can catch ze snitch. You saw me doing eet."

"Oh… yes. If he asks I will." Harry doubted Viktor would bother asking him.

For the remainder of the lunch hour, Gabrielle chattered on endlessly about Viktor and flying and her snitch and whatever surprise was waiting for her. It was as if Maxime hadn't said anything. But to the rest of the school, it weighed heavily on their minds. Harry could see it in their tensed posture, and in the way not a single student left the hall without the company of another. _Travelling in numbers won't be enough to save you from him._

He was alone again now. The majority of students had trudged away to their classes, and those who hadn't were a subdued bunch. Harry was used to this type of silence. It was a quiet that came along in only extraordinary circumstances, where students could feel the icy hold of fear circle their throats: the escape of Sirius Black, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the return of Lord Voldemort.

Worming through the dark passages, he made his way back to Flamel's laboratory. After weeks of the purifying flames burning day and night, the lab suddenly felt much colder and sent goosebumps up his skin. The flames had been quenched days earlier, and three blood-red stones sat amongst the ashes. He could see them now, sitting in the center of a white stone basin beside the alchemist, ever hard at work. "Ah, just in time Alic," he called from his hunched position. "Come here please." He lifted the stone basin and sat in on the desk in front of Harry. "Pick up the stones and tell me what you feel."

Looking down upon them, the stones were of such deep crimson that at times they looked black. Even simply hovering his hand over them, he could feel the alchemical creations pulse with life. Reaching down and gripping the first stone, he had the sudden urge to retch. It was cold and wet and sticky in his hand, sending a sickening rush of dread down his spine. "It feels… almost evil," Harry said, seeing the expectant look on Flamel's face.

"Then I feel it is best suited for the horcrux." With soft white gloves that matched his snowy robes, he gently picked up the stone and placed it in a jet-black bowl.

Reaching for the second, he could feel it pull towards him with a force of attractiveness. The stone filled him with a warmth that left him smiling. "It feels familiar," he said, never wanting to let it go.

"A stone best suited for yourself." With gentle fingers, Flamel managed to coax the stone away from Harry and into a bowl of white marble.

He took the last in his hand, and felt nothing. No warmth, no chill, no sensation other than a heaviness from its weight. It was as if a void had opened within his fist. "What is this one for?" Harry asked, putting the strange stone back down.

Flamel stored it in a bowl of plain grey stone. "I had to adapt the idea of using a single stone to sustain your life force." He started, setting the three bowls off to the side. "A single stone would never have been sufficient given the complexity of your case, and the complications that come with it. As such, I have expanded to three stones, each with their own purpose though ultimately related to that of the original stone. One is to tether the shard of Voldemort that attached itself to your scar, and another is meant to tether to your own soul."

"And the third stone?" The third, which had given him no feeling.

"The final stone is what complicates matters. It is both the problem and the solution." Flamel took a seat, and invited Harry to do the same. "It is the problem, in that the identity of its tethered partner remains unknown."

"Then how can we possibly use it, if we don't know what it is?" It seemed a rather significant problem to Harry.

"Think, Alic. The solution is known to you." Flamel never gave him a chance to answer before continuing himself. "The nature of a horcrux is to pervert its host, leaching itself like a parasite. Only a magical object of significant power can hold a Horcrux, and only something even stronger can destroy one."

"Basilisk venom," Harry said. "I used it to destroy one of them in the past."

"Precisely." Flamel pulled from the desk a stack of papers that he skimmed over briefly. "Or perhaps Fiendfyre could work, as well as the killing curse. Those methods would all be satisfactory when destroying a physical host, but we are working beyond that. The splintered soul does not reside in something so simple. We are dealing with matters of the spirit, a realm of magic only I am intimately familiar with." He passed Harry one of the papers. Its surface was stained and wrinkled, and marred by ugly scratches of shorthand that Harry could not hope to understand. Flamel tapped his finger lower down the page where a crude drawing of a man lay at the center of three stones. "Voldemort's soul lurks around your very own, searching tirelessly for the slightest flaw in your mother's protection, in the hopes it can slip past and overcome your being. Whatever magic your mother invoked to save you, over time it has become linked with the foreign soul."

Harry looked at Flamel almost disbelieving. "His soul is anchored to my mother's protection?" He could feel his heart racing against his chest. "It's not attached to me?" _I'm not the horcrux…_ The silent question hung between them.

"As I said, we are dealing with matters of spirit. You were once, and still are a vessel, but no longer the host. The horcrux Voldemort accidentally made is in you, but not of you. The soul feeds on your mother's magic, and together they make a horcrux that doesn't exist in the physical plane. Your soul must be tethered separately from Voldemort's, and it comes to the third stone to tether something powerful enough to destroy both your mother's protection and Voldemort's corrupted soul."

"So the third stone is almost like a doorway between the physical and the spirit." Harry said out loud, trying to piece together all he had just learned.

Flamel quirked his head to the side, and looked at Harry with dark penetrating eyes. "Yes…" His voice trailed off and his head nodded almost in agreement. "That would be an appropriate way to describe it. Well done, Alic."

 _Oh, a compliment,_ Harry wanted to laugh, scarcely believing what he'd just been given. Though it didn't serve to make him feel any better. _I doubt he has one of those just lying around in his pocket._ "Do you have any ideas?" He had to repeat his question a second time, as the ancient man was too busy scribbling away and pulling out tomes with a new zeal about him.

"No… no… I have research to do, leave me Alic." Flamel brushed him away without sparing him a look. _He probably didn't even listen to what I said._

Harry was at a loss over what to do. Time sometimes seemed to crawl to a halt around him. Days blurred together but each one stretched on for an eternity. He longed for the lazy afternoons at Hogwarts, where hours would slip away like seconds while flying through the air or playing chess with Ron or simply talking to his friends by the warm hearth of the common room. What would Hogwarts have been like if there was no war? Would it have been as full and bustling as Beauxbatons? How many more Gryffindors would there have been, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Slytherins? _Peace…_ It was a pleasant thought. A world that knew peace. Where blood didn't matter, and house rivalries were nothing more than chirps of banter over the House and Quidditch Cup. _Maybe then I could have been more open with Daphne, and she wouldn't have had to leave._ What Daphne had done to him… it hurt almost as much as Fleur's betrayal. It was the war and her family that forced her to leave, he knew that much, but still it left his heart raw and aching. At times his mind wandered back into that horrible mist, and he remembered the feeling of her warmth wrapped around his own. _I could have forgiven her,_ he told himself, _we could have been happy_.

A stab to his head nearly took him to the floor. Grabbing at a nearby shelve, he caught himself, sending metallic instruments _clanking_ to the ground in the process. Blood filled his mouth. _Why am I so angry?_ Hot rage pulsed through every vein in his body, feeding him a twisted pleasure over the murder he wanted to commit. _Murder?_ This time it felt as though his skull had shattered, and Harry could taste the cold stone against his skin. Opening his eyes, Harry's hand was extended outwards holding a bone-white wand. _What is that sound?_ It was a horrific shrieking that could shatter glass, and it took a moment for Harry to realize it came from a huddled figure on the ground. "Enough," he snapped, tearing his wand away. The man before him was sobbing. "You let the girl get away Mulciber."

"M-m-m-my L-l-l-lord… it w-wasn't m-m-m-me." He sputtered almost incoherently on the floor, a complete wreck.

"Speak clearly Mulciber, or has the drink still addled your wits." Harry could feel a rush of satisfaction that wasn't his, and his head turned in the direction of sallow faced man with a greasy curtain of hair.

"I can speak on my own behalf Severus…" He hissed, and Snape bowed his head. An ugly frenzy built in his core as he turned back to the pathetic wizard before him. "The girl was an essential part in our plans to draw in Potter and you lost her. It is a failure that I cannot sit back and tolerate."

"M-my L-l-lord. I… I n-never d-d-did…"

"Silence!" Oh how he wanted to kill the man slowly, strip away his skin and leave the meat for Nagini. "Severus entered the dungeons to find you passed out from drink and wandless, it was your negligence that allowed her to escape!" The air snapped before him, and tossed Mulciber a dozen feet through the air. "You will be left to Travers' mercy." Mulciber was already unconscious.

He turned his attention to his right, and saw Snape slink up before him and bow. "Rise," he commanded, and he did. "I have need of you Severus."

"Anything for my Lord." Voldemort smiled over the obedience of his servant. Black eyes stared into his own, and for a fleeting moment he considered tearing into his mind. But he restrained himself, having done so on countless occasions when he was still Dumbledore's pet.

"The Ministry has been crumbling ever since our claim of Potter's death. It will fall. When it does, I will have you put in as the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Snape's eyes widened and he bowed his head again. "My Lord is too generous."

"Hogwarts and her secrets are dear to me… In truth it was to go to Bellatrix, but she must be punished for her failure in treating with the goblins."

"Perhaps Bellatrix was unaware that threatening goblins with mutilation was not a proper form of negotiation." Snape spoke with his head still facing the ground. He might have cursed Snape for that, but he was a merciful Lord, and allowed his insolence to pass.

"The goblins are becoming more and more of a hindrance. I would have threatened worse. But you are correct, she was wrong to speak so carelessly to them. That is why I will have you speak to them as well. You are a cunning man Severus, this is a task of utmost importance, and I will not tolerate any further failure."

"It will be done, My Lord." His servant vanished into the shadows.

In front of him, he could still see Mulciber spread grotesquely across the floor. The taste of blood had yet to leave his mouth, and the rage of his failure still ran fresh. _"Crucio."_ Even from his high seat, he could see the whites of the man's eyes as he screamed. Something burst from his throat, and soon he was cackling along to the familiar tune of suffering.

The floor was wet, and Harry woke to find himself lying beside a puddle of his own sick. The fading remnants of laughter and agony echoed in the dark recesses of his mind. _I was Voldemort._ Harry retched again. He could almost feel the horcrux coming to life within him. _It took me into his mind… but did he know I was in there?_ The thought of being tricked by the connection again was like a knife to the gut. But it didn't feel the same. Voldemort hadn't goaded him with anything. It was as if he were peering in unawares through the window of Voldemort's soul, feeling his every emotion and thought. _He was furious._ Harry could still feel some of it left over inside of him. _The Ministry is falling. Snape is to be Headmaster. The goblins are causing problems._ He forced himself to remember, the vision was fading away quickly like a dream.

The rush of emotions and sickness, and the feeling of Voldemort inside him was proving to be too much. Stumbling up the dark steps of the dungeons, he retched a third time and then a fourth. Acid burned his throat, forcing him to spit as he no longer could swallow. He blasted his mouth with a jet of water, clearing it of sick and making breath come easier. Taking the cloak out of his mokeskin pouch, he threw it over his shoulders. It wouldn't do for the students to see Alic in such a terrible state. He could feel his fine blonde hair plastered against his skull, and globs of vomit and spittle had crusted upon his neck, cheeks, and clothing.

The cool evening air filled his lungs with fresh life. A moon, full and glowing, hung high and spilt its silver pools across the grounds. For a moment Harry thought of Remus, and Isla, and baby James. Stars sprinkled the sky like floating orbs, and the Dog Star shined brightest of them all. The rage and fear and sickness were slowly leaking away. And the horcrux within him was nothing more than a dull pounding against the spot where his scar should be. It was late, Harry noticed. The calm of night having fully settled in. The mountains surrounding the school were great waves of shadow, cresting far above them all. Statues stood sleeping, and hedge rows were shivering with the breeze. He'd put the cloak away, basking in the feel of nature on his skin. His thoughts were lost, but his feet carried him onwards.

The scuffing of brick turned to the kicking of stones, and now he could hear the soft patter of feet on dirt and grass. He was following a familiar, twisting path that led away from the foot of the mountains. Shimmering in the moonlight and crouched to the soft ground below, the Abraxans looked like mounds of pilled snow. They were sleeping, which came as no surprise to him, but Harry stood watching their still forms, leaning himself against the fence. _Maybe if I brought a golden apple I could have fed them._ He still didn't know where Grindelwald had managed to find one. He'd asked Gabrielle about feeding the horses, but she said she wasn't allowed to know yet. _It's a shame… maybe I could have convinced one to let me ride it._ It would have earned him a crack over the head from both Hedwig and Buckbeak, but there wasn't an animal more majestic in the sky.

A soft stroke of wind brushed over him from behind, carrying a scent that stilled his beating heart. It disappeared when he sniffed again, as though teasing him. _It's just a trick of my mind._ The world stood motionless around him, and a strange feeling in his chest twisted violently. The horses lay as calm as when he'd found them, but Harry was agitated. He could hear a gust _whooshing_ from the east, and felt it a second later. The scent came with it. His grip tightened painfully around the wooden bar in front of him, his knuckles almost as white as the Abraxans. _A trick of my mind… just a trick,_ he continued to tell himself. But as the wind continued to whistle overhead, the fragrance grew only stronger. _It's not. It can't be._ Something flooded over him, though he wasn't sure what it was exactly. Panic? Anger? Fear? Elation? He was drowning in their confusing feelings. Footsteps could be heard now from down the path. There wasn't a doubt in his mind anymore. No more denial. _I can't turn around._ He wouldn't. Her essence was almost overwhelming at this point, weakening his knees. _She won't know who I am._ The sudden realization made him feel wrong. He could turn around and be Alic and go on pretending this never happened. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

Gathering up his remaining strength, Harry rounded on his unwelcome visitor. Rippling in the gentle breeze was a gleaming cape of pale blue, where gems of silver twinkled, mirroring the stars above. It was exquisite on its own, but on her it was a masterpiece. Her hair streamed down to her waist like luminous strands of pure moonlight, and her eyes were pale blue diamonds reflecting broken shards of sadness. The sight of her nearly broke his resolve. She looked him up and down, her gaze never changing, but stopped at a spot around his neck. She'd been searching for something, and now she found it. "'Arry…"

 **AN:**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this latest update! It's quite a big one in terms of the events within it, and leads very nicely into the next one (which I am stilling working on).**

 **If read closely enough, there are a few hints scattered here and there. One of them is quite important for something coming soon.**

 **Thank you all for the reviews. Please do leave some more on the events of this chapter, and your thoughts on all that happened. Your feedback is invaluable.**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 9 - A Reunion of Sorts

 _Arry…_ His plan shattered before his eyes.

They were frozen in time, swimming in a pool of moonlight. For a heartbeat he thought they were back in Grimmauld Place, lost and broken, separated by their secrets. _I guess we really haven't changed all that much._ Harry could feel the stirrings of a strange laughter within him. Those few steps felt like worlds between them, yet her voice still carried over that immeasurable distance. _Arry…_ Her voice, it was a poison, one that seeped its fluid fingers into his mind, sapping his strength.

Their gaze had yet to break, and she hadn't spoken again, despite her tone ringing sharply in his ears. Minutes must have passed by now, surely, though he could not be sure. He was a mess. _Maybe she didn't say my name… maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear._ It was a thought he could grasp onto, one that could keep him afloat in the storm that was raging within him. Here, amongst the Abraxans, was the only place he dared let himself dream. _To hear her say my name again…_

Her lips parted for what looked like breath, but something else escaped instead. "Arry."

 _My name. She knows my name._ He refused to speak, a hint of panic taking hold of him.

Fleur shifted in place. It looked almost a shiver, but she didn't appear cold. Doubt flashed over her face like a shadow, and for a moment he was certain she saw Alic. Portly and blonde and utterly unremarkable, it was a mask none could see through. _But you did, only you…_ Her eyes sharpened. "It is you."

Words failed him under the thundering of his heartbeat. A sudden dryness filled his throat making each breath like swallowing sand. "I…" He almost coughed. _I can still get away._ "I think you're mistaken, my name is Alic… just Alic." Harry wasn't sure if he could have sounded any less sure of himself. The ground was not quite as sturdy as he remembered it to be, nearly tripping on his own feet as he made to leave.

She stepped forward looking to catch his arm, but Harry flinched away. _Her eyes are shining,_ he thought to himself staring up from his crouched position. They were stars reflected on a sheet of ice, melting down the pale skin of her face in long silver tracks. _She's crying._ Though time had healed his many wounds, Fleur still ran raw. It had been so long since he'd last seen her, but this sudden meeting was uncanny to the ending of their last.

A part of him longed to take her in his arms. But he was Alic, and the closer he drew, the more it felt as though his mask was failing. _I need to get away from her._ "I'm sorry," he said without thinking, picking himself up and hoping to return to the safety of Beauxbatons. But Fleur choked, and he stopped, and a rush of anger came over him. _Sorry…_ His apology hung in the empty air. And the meaning behind the words exposed something Harry had long kept hidden in a place he dared not touch. Something deep and black and ugly.

"Do not run from me, 'Arry. Please… not again."

A sudden gust of wind burst overhead, blowing the stringy blonde hair out of his face. "Don't. Say. Another. Word." Each utterance was split as if by an axe, and a wet warmth was sticking between the clenched fingers of his fist. _How dare she._ It was the only coherent thought he managed to put together. The rest were dark urges of violence and rage that rattled within him. _After all she's done. I'm the one who apologized…_

"I know it is you." Her voice was soft, but still it managed to cut through the rushing air. "You don't look it, 'Arry, but I know."

 _Stop saying my name!_ He wanted to scream. "Shut up!" He yelled instead. It was something Alic would never do, but he didn't care. Alic was gone and Harry was lost, leaving him unsure as to who stood there in that moment. His hand shot up to his forehead despite knowing the scar was not there. Moving his fingers, he smeared something, and he half-expected it be melting skin from the intensity of the burning. _Can Voldemort feel this?_ If it worked one way, why not the other.

Neither spoke for quite a while. Harry was too uncertain to move, torn between conflicting desires; and Fleur stood still, simply staring at him with unquestionable certainty. "Three weeks ago I received a letter from Gabrielle about a new friend, young and British. For a moment I thought… but then I read his name was Alic," she said, taking a careful first step forward. "But still, each time I received a new letter there was a part of me that wished the name would change. When I received word of the assignment to Beauxbatons I had thought to speak to this Alic, if only to put a stop to my foolish hope." Harry felt himself shift back as Fleur drew closer. "When I arrived, Viktor told me of a boy who was almost laughing at all the attention he was getting, and later Gabrielle said it was you. I am the sister she rarely gets to see, but it was you she couldn't stop talking about: studying in the library, your French lessons, how much you like the horses, and the hours she has spent with you playing with her toy snitch. The only person she had ever spoken about in such a way was 'Arry." Mere inches separated them now, and the scent of lavender came washing over him. "But still… when I saw you leaving the grounds, I had doubt. You don't have his eyes or his glasses or his smile. When I look at you, I don't see the boy who escaped death in that maze, and the strength that held him together. This Alic is no powerful wizard who could stand against Voldemort." He watched as her hand reached to touch his neck, but it came away with a small scaly pouch. "That was until I saw this."

In all of its usefulness, Harry had forgotten why he initially had come to wear it. But now he remembered. He looked again to the pouch held in her fingers, and then to the starry cloak fluttering behind her shoulders. He wore her gift, just as she wore his.

"I asked you to come away with me to France." The soft flesh of her hand was cupping his face now, and he could feel himself lean into her touch. "You left, but now you are here… why?"

If only for a moment, he wanted to tell her everything. About the vampires and werewolves, Remus' family, Nurmengard, Grindelwald and Flamel and the Horcrux within him. _I can't trust her._ And that ugly feeling inside him stirred. He'd trusted her once – loved her even – and it was all a lie. She used him. Just as she used Bill and the rest of the Order. _But she loved you…_

Harry tore himself away from her, the mokeskin pouch shrivelling and slipping out of her grasp. "You know why I won't tell you anything." The words came out as a snarl.

Fleur would not let him get away, filling the space that opened between them. "We are not in Britain anymore. This has nothing to do with the Weasleys and the Order and Hogwarts. That war is lost and in the past."

"The war isn't over as long as I'm still breathing." Harry shouted couldn't stop until Voldemort was dead.

"I know you, 'Arry. I know that you will fight no matter the odds, but Britain is lost." It almost sounded as if she was pleading with him. "Without you they have no hope."

"They have me!"

"Do they?"

The question was a perilous blow to his already unstable state. _I left them. I packed up and ran and left them to die._ There was a sad and knowing look on Fleur's face, and it only served to further fuel his self-loathing and anger.

"I won't abandon them," he said, though whether for his own sake or for Fleur's he wasn't sure. "Not like you. I won't let Voldemort win."

"He won't win," Fleur said. "He can't as long as you are living, and I will not let him kill you." Her eyes were piercing and threatened to steal his breath away. "But you must understand that there are larger issues at hand. Gellert Grindelwald escaped prison, and the ICW doesn't have nearly as horrible a history with Voldemort. Their priorities are much different."

 _It all comes full circle in the end…_ "You're choosing them again." He spoke dull and flat, trying to rein in his emotions, but the words still hurt far more than he thought they would.

"I'm not choosing anything!" He could hear the frustration in Fleur's voice as she threw her arms up in the air. "Can I not care for you, and do my job at the same time? I am no longer a spy, 'Arry. I have nothing to hide from you anymore. I wronged you and those who cared for you, and I will never forgive myself for that, but don't throw away your life. Let us help you, and in time we will beat Voldemort together."

Harry paused, letting her words fully settle. "At this point, it's not their help I need." He had long thrown in his lot with crazy old men. What did the ICW give him? Countless highly trained individuals, surely, but they hadn't managed to stop Voldemort now or before. He would be submitting himself to some governments whims, something he had staunchly refused in the past. What guarantees did he have that he wasn't walking in on another Fudge or Scrimgeour? They might not even let him fight. That was something he could not let stand. Nor could his wand – he could feel its displeasure at the thought without even touching was the only man alive who knew what it was like to hold the elder wand, and the ICW wanted him captured or dead. _It's one or the other, and I'm the one who broke him out. It's no true choice._

Fleur took his head in her hands again, and this time he let her. Smooth, her thumb brushed down the plumpness of his cheek, and he felt himself relax under her warmth. "What has happened to you?" Her breath was a whisper. "Why do you hide under this face I do not recognize…" Cheekbones, nose, and lips, she traced them all with the point of her finger. "The world is less without you in it. What is holding you back?"

Harry wasn't sure what it was – a bout of madness, or a moment of vulnerability to which Fleur preyed upon – but he found himself opening up to her. Like a fool, he wanted to trust her. "To win this war, to kill Voldemort… I need to die."

A tuft of his golden hair was almost torn out from the jerking of her hand. "You what?'Arry… you can't… if you die –"

"Stranger things have happened," he finished. His life was in the hands of an ancient alchemist.

"Alic!" The sound of his alternate name brought Harry back to the reality of the outside world. He stepped away from Fleur. "Alic!" The voice called out again, and Harry almost laughed with the happening of his arrival. Shuffling faster than he had any right to, Flamel came around the bend of the path, his white robes radiant in the night.

"Monsieur Wulfric?" The look on Fleur's face was almost comical, if not for the situation they had just been in.

It took a moment for the old man's wheezing to subside and catch his breath. Physical activity clearly wasn't something Flamel had taken to over the centuries. He looked between the two of them with some interest. "Ah, Madame Delacour, a pleasure to see you again. Unfortunately, I have need of my assistant, Alic. Our work awaits us." He gripped Harry by the arm.

"Is it not a strange time for research?"

"History never sleeps, Madame. Especially for enthusiasts such as us. Come, Alic." He dragged Harry away before either of them could react. Or perhaps they were too shocked to do so. Fleur looked horribly lost with Wulfric's unexpected arrival and their departure. A frown creased her brow, and she opened her mouth as though she wanted to stop them, but couldn't piece together a reason why. Suspicion lurked in the depths of her eyes, trying to fit together two pieces that seemingly should not have any connection.

A cloud of dirt and dust rose around them as Flamel raced down the path with Harry alongside him. There was a lot whirling about Harry's mind in that moment, and Flamel's strange behaviour only added to the mess. "What do you mean we have work to do?" Harry said, trying to stop, but was pulled along further.

"I've found it!" It was the most excited Harry had ever heard the old man. And turning his head to take a closer look, Flamel looked almost manic. "You said something in regards to the third stone, 'a doorway between the physical and spirit.' It is a simple way of describing the nature of what we face, but not every problem is in need of a complex solution. I searched my notes and records in the hope of finding something to which you described, your words felt oddly familiar, but nothing presented itself to me. That was until this." He raised his hand, and Harry could see there was a slip of parchment in it. " _A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth…_ the answer lies in Albus' riddle."

"The hallows?" Harry asked. He could feel his breathing coming in short.

"I never quite understood the meaning behind his words. Though now it seems so laughably simply." Harry could hear a strange scratching sound from his side, and it was seconds before he realized it was Flamel laughing. The man was shaking, and breathing heavily from their fast pace, and someone else watching would likely think he was having a fit. "One word." He said, managing to calm himself down. "One word was all he changed, and it sent our heads spinning. A stone of life, he said, not death. A stone that bridges between this world and the next – the physical and the spirit."

This time Harry did stop, and Flamel with him. They stood in the front gardens at the foot of the grand fountain named in honour of the brilliant man in front of him. Water rushed through the air, twisting like dancing shadows in the darkness. "The resurrection stone," Harry said.

Flamel nodded, a queer grin splitting his face. "A legendary stone that is said to slip into the realm of spirit. One with enough power to destroy both Voldemort's soul and your mother's protection."

Harry could feel his heart in his throat, a small semblance of hope lighting the end of the dark tunnel of his life. "Do you think it will work?"

"Given its properties and the manner in which it fits my earlier calculation, I would be tempted to say yes. Though I can't be sure until we have acquired it."

 _Acquired it_. Harry froze. _I already have it._ Suddenly, he could feel the weight of the mokeskin pouch around his neck, and something else inside beating with life. In front of him, Flamel was jittering impatiently in place. "I have it." The alchemist's eyes widened considerably, and he stilled. "Dumbledore gave it to me," he said. Reaching to his neck, Harry pulled out the snitch and opened it with a touch of his lips. The stone floated out, finely cut like a black diamond, swallowing the surrounding darkness. Flamel's white glove caught the stone, his eyes glazed and staring in wonder. The air filled with an unseen presence, as though it had been empty before.

"I… I've never used it before. I don't think Dumbledore did either."

Flamel swiped at his face. "No. Albus might have been tempted, but he would have wanted to join his family properly. Had he used it… I don't think he would have ever been able to stop." His stare never broke from the stone in his hand as he spoke. "Not every man is so strong…" Harry caught his whisper.

"How soon?" It was an abrupt question, one that broke the quiet night.

"How– I'm not sure…" Flamel jolted to attention, gripping the stone. "There are many things I must first check. But soon."

Harry could almost kiss the man, but he looked so frail in that moment, and the shock might be enough to kill him. He wanted to sing from the mountaintops, and hear his joy echo through the passes and into the valley below. _I have a chance._ It was a small thing, but enough to send him smiling and laughing and crying. _I have a chance._

Just off into the distance, and over the soft splashing of water, the sound of scuffing brick caught their attention. Exiting a hedge-lined path with silver hair flowing behind her, Fleur looked both beautiful and terrifying. But more importantly, she was angry. And for a heartbeat, Harry could see a hint of a resemblance to the Veela at the World Cup.

"It seems Miss Delacour has regained her wits." Flamel slipped the Resurrection Stone up one of his large sleeves.

"She knows." Harry said in a half whisper.

Flamel hummed. "She always was a bright witch. What gave it away?"

Harry bristled. "I didn't do anything."

"I said _what_ gave it away, not who." Fleur could see them now, and her pace only picked up.

"My pouch," he said, though he was busy watching Fleur and wondering how she could look so elegant while stomping. "It was a Christmas gift from her."

"Perenelle once brought me a mummy from an excursion to Egypt. It was a fascinating subject. She told me it had once famously slaughtered an entire team of curse breakers."

"Lovely. I'll be sure to ask for one next year." Harry said drily. They were whispering now.

"Perhaps you should, that way you wouldn't feel obligated to wear something that wasted the time I put into crafting Alic. Ah, hello Madame Delacour, did you happen to lose your way?" He smiled kindly after transitioning seamlessly. Harry almost laughed.

"Non… I – What is going on here?" Fleur recovered quickly from being wrong-footed.

"I was explaining to Alic the properties of the pool, here." Flamel cupped a hand into the dark waters and brought it to his mouth. "He doesn't quite believe in the stories. A British thing I presume."

"I am not speaking about the stupid pool," Fleur snapped. All patience had been lost. "This man is not named, Alic. He is Harry Potter!"

 _Shout it louder why don't you,_ Harry thought.

"Of that I am aware, Madame."

The three of them looked at each other in silence.

He couldn't take it anymore. "Oh for the love of Merlin! Can you just tell her already? Before she does something that ruins everything we've done."

Flamel looked almost disappointed that his charade was ended. He stuck out a white gloved hand. "A pleasure to meet you Madam Delacour, Nicolas Flamel. Though at times I do prefer Wulfric."

 _Maybe that wasn't the best idea…_ Harry reconsidered his words. Fleur was in a state, even more so than before. Her eyes were wide and white like Trelawney's crystal balls, and she kept blinking without speaking as if her brain had short circuited. "I went to school with Nicolas Flamel… and never knew." She was speaking mostly to herself in French. She gasped. "Your fountain… I did not mean to call it stupid."

He waved his hand. "Perenelle was much more partial to it than I ever was."

"What are you doing here with him?" She rounded on Harry, tangles of her hair flying loose and framing her face.

Harry didn't answer. He could see the hurt in her eyes.

"Research and discovery, Madame. There is always work to be done, and these matters do not stop and go on the whims of the rest of the world." Flamel spoke for him.

"'Arry… please. Speak to me." Her eyes searched for his own, but he kept his on a spot just above her shoulder. "I want to help you, don't shut me out."

"I feel as though it is best if I leave." Flamel interrupted, though neither of them turned to pay him attention. "Alic, I will begin our work at once."

He left the two of them by the fountain, the shuffling of his footsteps muffled by falling water before disappearing completely. They were alone again. Though this time Harry felt as though he had the upper hand. It was Fleur unsure before him, and he who would dictate the direction of their conversation. "I can't change it," he said finally. Fleur looked at him, not knowing what he was referring to. "My face. _This_. Alic. It's some alchemical thing. I can tell you don't like it."

A small smile quirked at the edge of her lip and she sniffed. "Non, he is quite plain – a bit piggish, really. He is not you."

Harry laughed. It was only slightly false. "Reminds me a bit of my cousin really." It was only passing, but the blonde hair and plumpness was enough. "Makes it hard to look in a mirror sometimes. I think I had nightmares as a kid where I would wake up as him." _My nightmares now are a lot worse._

"Was he really that bad?"

"Horrible… at least when we were kids. His favorite game was to terrorize me, but I think it was because he was too thick to think of anything else to do." Harry scratched at where the burn should have been along his chin before meeting Fleur's gaze. It was warm, and for a moment it was easy to forget all that they had been through. "He's not so bad now. I stopped by my old house before leaving Britain, and scared the magic out of him – if he had any I mean. Helped me brew a potion too. I think he's grown up."

"I'm glad," Fleur said, and she pulled her loose hair back over one shoulder. "Some people get better with age, others… get worse." It wasn't difficult to know who she was referring. _It always comes back to this. Why can't we just forget the past?_ He knew why.

"Listen, Fleur. I… I don't know what you want. But if it's forgiveness, I'm not sure I can do that." He puffed out a breath of air trying to gather his thoughts. Why was this so hard? "What happened. What we – what you did, I don't know if I can ever move past that. It's just too much. I lo…" The word was stuck in his mouth. He changed course. "After all that, I don't know if it will ever be the same. You're fighting on the same side as I am, against Voldemort. I know that, and I know you're not evil. I can try to trust you, but… I can't make any promises."

There was a familiar sheen over her eyes as she digested his words. She swallowed several times before she spoke. "I can live with that. I wish… I wish that it didn't have to be that way – that we could go back… but I understand." She sniffed and straightened her shoulders. "I want you to trust me, and I promise I will earn it." A moment went by as she paused in thought. "I think a good first step would be talking to Viktor. After you left… I didn't speak of you. It was too difficult, I couldn't. The world thinks you are dead, and Viktor was especially hurt. He doesn't make friends easy, and he considered you one after the tournament."

Harry remembered the harsh scowl that often hid the kindness underneath it. _He took Hermione to the Yule Ball._ Speaking to Viktor couldn't be too bad. And it would bring him one step closer to trusting Fleur again.

Beauxbatons was a maze just as Hogwarts was, but Fleur knew this one much better than he. Its hallways were narrow, and at times he felt as though they were closing in, but she led him through its twists and turns without hesitation. She told him this was the guest wing of the palace, and that the members of the ICW would be staying here for the time being. She pointed out her room, the first in a long row that stretched almost endlessly before they reached the last at the end. There weren't any doors, just small golden knockers that were embedded in the wall. Fleur hit it twice with her wand and waited in silence. It was half a minute later that Harry heard a sound, and the wall around the knocker gave off a golden glow, leaving a door in its place. The door swung open.

"Hello?" It was a curious greeting, and Krum looked at him with suspicious dark eyes. "Vat do you vant?" It was directed at him, but meant for Fleur to answer.

"Can we come inside Viktor, it's important." Fleur spoke quickly.

He looked between the two of them again and shrugged his sloped shoulders before grunting in acquiescence. The room was much larger inside, Harry noticed, as they followed him in, but it was almost expected after living in the magical world for so long. It was decorated as elaborately as the rest of the palace, more fit to be a royal bedchamber than a guestroom. Tapestry's and muggle paintings sat unmoving on the walls, and a gilded chandelier hung high from the ceiling.

"Vat is it? Vy did you bring him?" Viktor sat himself on a very uncomfortable looking chair. Harry settled for the couch, and Fleur took her place beside him.

Fleur looked around carefully, trying to find the right words. "You mentioned noticing him in the dining hall –"

"Yes. Vat of it?" Krum's dark gaze was focused on him again.

"Well…" Fleur paused. "It turns out that he isn't exactly who he says–"

Harry didn't have the patience for this right now. No matter how Fleur managed to put it, it was going to sound ludicrous and unbelievable. "I'm Harry Potter." He went for it. "It's good seeing you again Viktor."

Nobody moved. Viktor didn't show any outward reaction, he sat still and roved his eyes over Harry, and then to Fleur and back to Harry. "You didn't die?"

Harry shook his head, as if it was a significant amount of evidence to prove their story.

"Good." Viktor said, and he smiled.

 _A man of few words._

In a flash, Harry was pulled into the tightest embrace he had ever received. It was a wonder his spine didn't snap. He could hear Viktor's rumbling laugh, and couldn't help but smile himself. "Ve all heard that you died? How are you alive? And vy do you look like pig boy?"

"Easy Viktor," Fleur warned from the side, seeing the slight pain Harry was enduring.

A great rush of air filled Harry's lungs upon release, and he took a second to rub his side. "One at a time," he chuckled lightly. "I don't know why they say I'm dead. I managed to get out of Hogwarts during the fight. And it's a disguise."

"Vy the disguise?" Viktor asked curiously.

"I didn't want Voldemort finding out where I went." It was a small lie. _I didn't want anyone to find out where I went… or who I went with._

"Does he know about the rumours?" Viktor looked to Fleur, who was more pale then a moment ago.

"What rumours?" Harry was looking at Fleur now as well.

She rubbed at her face, extremely reluctant to speak. "There are rumours from Britain that Dumbledore… isn't dead." Harry was certain the world stopped spinning. "We don't know who started them, but there are whispers."

 _No. Impossible. It can't be._ He ran a hand through his annoyingly thin hair. "I… that doesn't make sense. I saw the curse. I saw him die." His voice was high and almost panicked.

"We think it is just your Ministry's last attempt to fight back," Fleur said.

"They say that they never found a body," Krum spoke this time, and Harry looked to him. "No body?" He said, disbelieving, and Krum nodded.

"From what we've learned, the last few moments of the battle were confusing. People saw you fighting Voldemort just before Dumbledore appeared. The stories of what was said between you are numerous, varied, and contradictory. All they have in common is that there was a killing curse and a massive rush of flames, and when they were cleared you and Dumbledore were gone." Fleur looked to him with pity.

 _No, I saw the curse hit him. He spoke to me his last words…_ _But did he?_ Harry didn't know what to think. It was all rumour and half-truths and none of it made any sense. _Could he be alive?_ It was almost too painful a possibility to ponder. "But they think I'm dead?"

"We don't know why, but yes."

Viktor spat. "All I know is that vith Dumbledore gone or hiding, Voldemort is the least of our problems. Grindelwald finally decided to escape. The coward vaited for him to die." He spat again.

"I… I don't…" Harry was lost for words.

Viktor turned to him again, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Ve are lucky ve found you Harry. The vorld is at var, and I vill need my friends to fight."

"Viktor, Viktor!" Fleur called pulling the two of them part. "Let Harry think, this is a lot for him." Viktor let him ago, and he bowed his head in apology.

"I am sorry. I do not know vhy I acted this vay." He sighed heavily and collapsed into his chair, rubbing at his face. "There is a lot of stress. Every day I get owls from my coaches, vanting to know vhen I will return. My mother says there is hate mail sent to my house for quitting Quidditch." Taking out his wand, he filled a glass with water and took a deep drink. "They do not understand vat this means to me." His fist tightened as he spoke. "Vat Grindelwald did to my family, and the vengeance ve vant. My father is not a strong vizard, and var does not suit him. I tell him, 'I go to var every time I climb my broom, let me fight.' My mother vas not happy, but I did not make this decision to make her proud. I did it for blood of Bulgaria and blood of my family."

Fleur refilled his glass. "These last few days have been difficult for Viktor, especially with what happened at Durmstrang."

"Ve got call from Headmaster. He told us school vas under attack. Durmstrang is big school, strong. Many have attacked it in history. Vhen ve arrived, I did not believe vhat I saw. Valls vere missing and school vas on fire, and I could hear shouting and screaming from students running to the field. Ve heard the name Grindelwald." In a shocking rush of rage, he took his glass and threw it to the floor where it shattered. "Some boys and girls vere smiling." He spat. "Others vere crying. Ve saw him, fighting the teachers and Headmaster, laughing, but too late before he left." His voice was tight, and he reached for his glass only to remember what he'd done with it. "Nobody knows vhy he came, but Headmaster says he snuck into school."

 _Why? What were you doing there?_ Harry couldn't understand his motivation. _Where did you go?_

Fleur walked over and gently touched Viktor's arm, but he shook her off and knelt in front of Harry. "I vill find Grindelwald, and vhen I do, I vill kill him."

Harry swallowed, a chill running down his spine as he stared into the murderous black pits that were Viktor's eyes. _And what about the one working with him?_ He couldn't help but wonder.

 **AN:**

 **I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. I apologize (kinda) for the cliffhanger, but at least I didn't leave it for too long. There's quite a few pieces in motion right now, and they'll each be playing their own important role in what is to come.**

 **Let me know your thoughts. The reviews and feedback I receive are invaluable. Thank you.**


	29. Chapter 29

A Beautiful Lie - A Stone of Life and A Stone of Death

For living in a remote mountain top with a face that wasn't his own, Harry found it increasingly difficult to hide. There were places to be sure, but few that were not known by others. Unlike Hogwarts with its scores of empty rooms, he was struggling to find a place to himself in Beauxbatons. The time had come for their final examinations, and students could be found in the strangest of places with papers and textbooks spread about them, cramming information for test day. It was only last night that he'd walked into one of the bathrooms and found a student locked in a stall muttering incantations under his breath.

He often questioned whether his identity being discovered was for the better or worse. It seemed that each time he turned around, Fleur and Viktor would appear. Seeing them again, it filled him with a feeling beyond mere words, as if their presence illuminated the dark world he had been living in previously. But with each passing day that feeling slowly began to fade, and now he had taken to moving through the palace underneath his invisibility cloak.

Whenever they sought him out, the conversation would inevitably turn to war, and despite their best efforts to disguise it as otherwise, they were coming to recruit him. A few words about the ICW here, mentions of important meetings there, and continually dressing in their pristine green robes (even though their colleagues had taken to more casual wear), their attempts to subliminally persuade him were not quite as subtle as they thought. He had wished for a sense of normality – that being with them would bring back a sliver of the life he once had lived – but it proved to be the opposite. They only spoke to how much the world had changed.

He wasn't sure which he avoided more. Harry liked Viktor, he truly did, but this was not the same sullen Quidditch star he'd known previously. What he had experienced the night he revealed himself to Viktor was not out of the ordinary. The man was prone to violent mood swings, shifting from his normal quiet self to a blind rage in a matter of seconds. People were nervous around him, he noticed, even his own colleagues. One wrong word could set him off, and the guilt was too much for Harry at times. _I did that to him…_

And Fleur… His attitude to Fleur had not gone unnoticed, as Gabrielle had just pointed out to him. "You don't like my sister." She looked sad, a frown scrunched upon her brow. They sat together leaning against a mound of dirt piled outside the greenhouse, one of the few vacant locations left in the school. First years at Beauxbatons did not write exams, only mock tests meant to prepare them for the next year, and that afforded them much more time off while other students stressed. "Why don't you like 'er?"

"I… er, I do…" Why was such a simple question so difficult to answer?

"Zhen why do you run away whenever Fleur comes?" She looked at him haughtily, her arms crossed over her chest, daring him to defy her.

"It's… there—"

"And she eez always upset when she talks about you."

"Gabrielle…" He sighed. "It's complicated."

The little girl looked at him as though he was stupid. "Eet eez not," she said firmly. "If I am friend's wiz you, zhen Fleur can be too. C'est facile."

Harry laughed. _Yes, if only it was that easy…_

Gabrielle didn't quite see the humour in what she said. "She eez leaving soon, can you be nice to 'er? I do not like seeing Fleur sad."

It was a simple request, and denying those big blue eyes that were staring at him was becoming increasingly difficult, much to his chagrin. "I can try," Harry said, making her smile. "But only if you stop playing with your snitch in class. You won't learn anything otherwise."

The choice seemed to be a horribly difficult one to make, but eventually she relented. "I promise," said Gabrielle meekly.

"Good." Harry pushed himself to his feet, and wiped the dirt off his clothing with a wave of his wand. "You can start next in Charms class — up you get." She did so with a painful reluctance, slapping away his wand when he moved to clean her clothes as well. A smile tug at his lip as he watched her run off, loose papers in hand, and dirt smudged robes fluttering in her wake. _I wonder if this is what it's like having a younger sister?_ If it was, he would have like it.

Slipping through the halls, he made his way to one of the passages that led to the dungeons – there were four that he knew of, though he was certain there were more. The grounds were more familiar to him now, making Beauxbatons lose much of its foreign feel, but there were still times where he took a wrong turn or went up instead of down. Rooms did not move as they pleased like they did in Hogwarts, but learning what went where within the palace was both tiresome and frustrating. He held a newfound respect for the frightened little first years and the strange new environment they were thrust into.

Across the staircase, between a set of jade vases, and standing near six feet in height was a gilded candelabra, with candles as thick as pipes sitting unburning in their place, until Harry set them alight with a deft flick. Not a moment later, a low grinding could be felt rumbling all around him, and turning, the floor vanished. A staircase seemingly stretched into an empty black void, and Harry could feel a rush of air prick his skin. His thoughts turned to what lay hidden in its dark and chilly depths.

Life. That was what lay in store for him — so close, yet still out of his grasp. Flamel's discovery and the Resurrection Stone had given him a glimmer of hope he'd never thought to have again, but since then he'd hardly seen the man. The laboratory was a maze, and somewhere amongst the twists and turns of its cluttered shelves the old alchemist was hard at work. At least Harry hoped he was. The few times they had crossed paths in recent days, Flamel looked strangely ill and almost as pale as his robes. On one occasion, Harry caught the old man sprawled out and sleeping over a counter, gauze wrapped tightly around his skeletal wrists, and for a fearful moment he thought the man to be dead — though his shallow and rattling breathing was not an encouraging sign either. When Harry had later chosen to voice his concerns, Flamel turned them away with clipped and dismissive responses, saying only that his research was tiring and not mentioning his injury. It was as though all progress in Harry's survival and reached a standstill.

The sound of simmering flames filled the chamber with its sissing, and a gloomy orange glow was cast over the stone floor and crawled up the walls. Beside the great pit dug into the floor, the workstation Harry would often see Flamel hunched over was empty. Piles of papers were scattered across the chipped and stained surface of a long bench cut from oak, their edges rustling from an unseen current of air.

Harry searched the first page simply to satisfy his curiosity. The chance that somewhere scribbled on its crinkled surface was the secret to destroying the horcrux inside him proved to be too much. _It would help if I could read the bloody thing,_ he thought while squinting, and he lifted the page next to a candle for more light. Nothing – he could make neither heads nor tails of it all. Symbols and foreign scripture and shorthand markings made it impossible to decipher, leaving only the crudely drawn images as his sole source of information.

A small, black pebble was depicted several times across the page, and flipping through several other sheets of parchment, Harry found similar drawings on them as well. Each piece was as cryptic as the next, though the more he searched the more he found. Some pictures were roughly scratched out, while others were seen only once and never again, but there were those that formed a clear pattern with their appearances. Two women could be seen in sequence, one standing and one laying down, with the stone centered between both of them. It was graphic in its depiction, with both women naked and cut open from throat to genitals. Harry frowned, not understanding their importance amongst the images he could clearly identify as himself and the three stones born from the purifying flames.

An ugly _CRASH_ stole Harry's attention away from the notes and directed it to some place deeper in the lab. It sounded as though metal pots had been knocked over and came clattering to the ground, or perhaps one of those strange silver instruments with thousands of spinning parts. "Hello…?" Harry called out tentatively at first, feeling oddly at unease. "Who's there? Nicolas is that you?" He found the strength in his voice, though it echoed without response. "Wulfric? Hello?" He tried, but still nothing.

 _Maybe something shifted and fell off a shelf?_ Harry thought to himself after a long pause of dead silence. With a shrug, he returned to looking over the notes, trying to piece together whatever he could.

It was a laborious task, and one that came with little success to show for his efforts. Slowly, as the candle lighting his work burnt lower and lower, numbers and letters and the ink forming them all began to pool in his mind. It was a dark, sludgy mixture, and he could feel himself submerge beneath its depths. The metallic taste of copper filled his mouth, and looking around, the black was turning a deep red. Blood came running down the walls – thick rivulets filling the lines and cracks of the stone floor, before congealing all around him. He could hear screams and cries, and felt tears on his face, and then Harry jumped awake. The light had died out leaving only a puddle of wax in its place. _That's the last time I fall asleep on an empty stomach…_

Pushing the papers into a half-organized stack, Harry stood with the intention of finding some dinner, but the feeling of unease from earlier continued to pull at his insides. _Bloody paranoia,_ he grumbled to himself. There was an eeriness about the laboratory, from both the silence and the dusky hue that settled over it like a fog. Even with only two people, he could hardly remember a moment where it wasn't burning with life and bustling with the noise of ongoing experiments and strange tests. Without that, it felt wrong.

A stream of air came brushing over his skin, the same that must have been blowing at the papers. His feet followed in its direction without thought, leading him further into the lab, and the strength of the breeze grew with each step. Harry felt something crunch under his foot. Lighting his wand and looking down, he could see chips of broken glass glittering up at him. Kneeling over and extending his arm further in investigation, cracked potion bottles and shattered vials could be seen scattered across the ground. A metal tray lay overturned two feet over; and near black in the light, a growing pool of red surrounded it all. Dipping a finger in and cautiously bringing it to his lips, it had a familiar bitter taste. _A blood replenisher…_

In that moment, a current of air passed under his nose, bringing with it the scent of copper. Immediately, his legs were moving again. It was the only thing he could smell now. Ahead of him now, were the red-stained hooks and hanging corpses he'd come across when he first arrived months ago. The sight of them only made him run faster. His previous unease was flooded by a surge of panic. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong.

The stench was unbearable now, and Harry could feel his eyes watering. Through his blurred vision, he could finally make out where it was coming from. The breeze was being carried from the open door of a vault carved out of oily black stone.

Stumbling through its opening, Harry retched at the sight.

Hanging from the ceiling was the corpse of a naked woman, her head slumped forward sending a curtain of brittle hair to cover her nipples. Blood was weeping out of slits in her wrists, though most of it had already dried. Her abdomen was gutted like a slaughtered pig, leaving her body an empty husk. Below, lain almost perversely across an alter where much of the cruor had drained, was a lump of crimson stained flesh. It was a woman, Harry thought, though there was so much blood and viscera it was impossible to tell.

The pile of flesh moved, and Harry attempted to steady his spinning world by grabbing hold of the wall. It moved again, and let out a low moan.

Horror took hold of his heart, and Harry sprinted over to the alter. There was more blood then he could ever have imagined, splashing and sticking and staining all of his clothes. With a jolt he suddenly understood why – small crystal vials lay at the foot of the alter. He heard the moan again, and noticed that it wasn't coming from the woman, but a frail wrinkled frame on top.

 _How is he alive…_ Harry flipped his body over, and took in the pair of ugly gashes cut deep into his own wrists. Strange wheezing sounds were leaving his throat, and it took Harry several seconds to realize he was speaking. "…Perenelle… Pe… P… Perenelle…" Harry's head snapped around to the old dead woman beside them. _Oh Merlin…_ he thought, sick filling his mouth, _don't let that be her…_ "…Per… I… ple… ome… back… my… fault… so… rry…"

"Nicolas!" Harry shouted, not wanting to even shake the man for fear of what that might do.

"… Al… ic…?" His eyes remained closed and he muttered incoherently, but at least it meant he was somewhat aware of his surroundings. "… Perenelle… th… stone…" The resurrection stone was held firmly in his grasp, where all his remaining strength went into twisting it between his fingers. "… I… I… see… Peren… talk… her…"

"Nicolas! Nicolas, you need to stop!" Harry shouted, grabbing hold of his wrists that continued to seep blood. "It's not working! You have to stop this madness!" He wasn't sure how, but he could feel it. The stone wouldn't bring her back – it didn't answer to him.

"…can't… sto… st… stop… Pe…" His voice was fading, and Harry didn't know how much longer he had left. What was he to do? He wasn't a healer? This was beyond anything he was capable of fixing? His breathing was coming faster and shorter, and he could feel a dizzying lightness come over his head. _What do I do? He can't die. I need him._ Harry was panicking, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do. It reminded him of when Katie was cursed and he couldn't do anything, until…

Fleur. She saved Katie when nobody else could. She was trained for could do this. He needed her.

Sparked into action, Harry summoned an intact vial of Blood Replenishing Potion and poured it down Flamel's throat. And with the little first aid he'd picked up over the years, Harry did as much as he could in the way of stemming the bleeding and closing Flamel's wounds, though his work left much to be desired. "Nicolas," Harry said, gently touching his face to catch his attention. "I'm going to get help. I promise to be back soon. Fleur will know what to do." He turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand gripping his wrist.

Flamel's eyes were open now, and staring up at him with surprising intensity. "The stone… it must be destroyed for… its power." His voice was halting but strong, and his grip tightened with each word. "The ritual… the stones… they need blood… yours."

"My blood? Why?" Flamel's sudden strength caught him off guard.

Flamel gave a jerky nod. "It is the anchor… the source… the plane… where you and your mother's protection meet… destroy the Hallow." He let go of Harry and collapsed to the alter.

"Nicolas!" Harry shouted, fearing the worst, but then he saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. "I'll be back. I promise." Giving him one last parting look, Harry sprinted out of the vault and through the laboratory.

The stench of blood followed him up and out of the dungeons, clinging to him with its sickening claws. He would need several baths at least before he ever felt clean again. It was a nightmare, what he'd seen down there, and every intake of breath reminded him of it. Blood and sweat crawled down his throat with its repugnant taste.

He burst through the passageway without a care, and took off down the hallway. "Bouge de la route! Bouge!" Harry yelled, sending students screaming out of his way, and he pushed through those too shocked to move. He climbed up the main staircase, three steps at a time, trying to remember the direction of Fleur's room. He stepped off on the second landing when he ran into a large collection of lower-year students coming down from the third, and ignored their shouts after him. Thinking back to where he travelled before, Harry took a left, then a right, another right, and a left, before ending up in a corridor he didn't recognize. _Damn this school! I need a bloody map!_ "Fleur!" He shouted out, beyond desperate at this point. "Fleur! Fleur!" Taking a corner much too fast, and without looking, he nearly barrelled into another student.

"Alic? What eez wrong?"

Harry spun around, and saw a very frightened looking Gabrielle – her eyes impossibly wide and shaking. "Gabrielle! Where is your sister? Where is Fleur?" Harry knew he was yelling at the poor girl, but he didn't have any time to spare.

She didn't answer, petrified at the sight of him. _I must look ghastly… there was just so much blood…_

"Gabrielle!" He reached to grab her by the shoulder, but she flinched away. Harry looked to his hand, and saw it dripping. _I don't even know who's it is._

"Fleur… she eez in 'er room I zhink." It was the most tentative he'd heard her speak since their first meeting.

"I know!" Harry snapped, and instantly regretted it. "Where is her room, I mean." He tried to be more gentle, though he wasn't sure how successful he was.

"Eet eez zhis way." She immediately led him up a flight of stairs and through several crisscrossing halls, likely too afraid to ask any more questions. They eventually reached a section of the palace he recognized, and Harry took off again, leaving Gabrielle behind.

He was in the guest wing of Beauxbatons, and headed in the direction he knew he'd travelled previously. _She said her room was the first one in the row…_ He grabbed the golden knocker and hit it harshly against the wall. "Fleur! I need your help! Fleur!" His voice went echoing down the hall.

A door materialized and opened seconds later, revealing a slightly mussed Fleur who looked as though she was woken from a nap. "'Arry? What do you…" The words were stolen from her at the sight of him. He could hear a set of footsteps running behind him. "What happened? Are you alright? Why are you covered in blood?" She looked him up and down for injuries, and frowned when she saw none.

"I need your help. Right now. Nicolas is hurt."

"'Arry, what—"

"'Arry?" Fleur was cut off by a third voice, and they both turned to see a panting Gabrielle standing behind them. "What 'appened to 'Arry?" She was looking between the two of them, and strangely at Harry.

"Fleur!" Harry said sharply, not caring about what Gabrielle might have heard in that moment. "We need to go now. He's dying."

Perhaps it had been the desperation in his voice, or the blood soaked clothing, or even her want to gain his trust again, but she snapped to attention almost immediately. She nodded, and grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and pushed her gently into her room, before sealing the door in the face of her childish protestations. "Where is he?"

"The dungeons," Harry answered quickly, "I'll take you there."

It was only as they were racing through the palace that Harry noticed Fleur wasn't wearing her ICW green robes. He wasn't quite sure why it mattered, but it did.

Re-lighting the candelabra, she gave him a questioning look, until it morphed into one of surprise when the floor gave way. The tunnels felt much darker all of a sudden, as though the air was filled with anguish, and they stretched on for what felt like forever. The blood spread on his skin and soaked into his clothes was as heavy as lead. "'Arry, what happened to him?" He could hear the heaviness of her breathing from behind him.

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. "He tried to do a… ritual, I think. I'm not sure. But I found him bleeding out and couldn't risk moving him. You're the only person I could trust to help."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "A ritual with blood, it is a very serious thing, 'Arry. I am not sure how much I can help."

"I just need you to heal him," Harry explained, "I fixed him up as best as I could and gave him a blood replenisher, but I need you to do the rest."

"'Arry— "

"Look, we're just here." Harry pushed through the door to the lab, which was pitch black without any light. Both Harry and Fleur cast glowing orbs into the air, illuminating the path in front of them. Through the shelves he led her, and past the hanging corpses, before finally reaching the vault. Harry could feel his heart racing against his chest, and a pit opened up in his stomach.

Fleur screamed, and he couldn't blame her. The scene was almost more gruesome the second time around.

"He's on the alter, come on," Harry took her by the arm and practically dragged her over. The shock having worn off, and seeing the man in need, brought Fleur back to her senses. Not caring for the red mess, she scrambled to the stone pedestal and started casting a series of charms.

Harry closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, trying to calm the untamed rush of his thoughts. It didn't seem to help. Looking back up, he saw Fleur standing still, finished sooner than he'd expected. "Is he well?" Harry asked, taking a step closer.

Fleur choked out something unintelligible.

 _Maybe it's the smell getting to her?_ Harry thought, it had only gotten worse since he'd left. "Do we need to take him to the medical center?"

"'Arry…" Fleur turned to face him, her face long and solemn. "He is dead."

 _Dead._ The word rang hollow in his head.

"No," Harry said, certain of himself, "he can't be dead."

"I'm sorry," said Fleur, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No." Harry brushed passed her, and ran to the alter. "Nicolas! Nicolas, I brought you help. Nicolas!" There was no response. "Nicolas!" He tried again, shaking the body. "Nicolas, please." But still there was nothing. "Please… _"_ His eyes were stinging now, as reality began to sink in. _He's dead, he's really dead._ All that remained of the legendary alchemist was a shrivelled, naked body stained with blood.

Fleur stood beside him again, holding him, and he wasn't sure when that happened. "He lived for over six hundred years… and this is how he died," Harry found himself saying.

"What happened?"

"It was his wife, Perenelle, she died after I destroyed her stone in my first year. He tried to get her back." It was the only option that made any sense to Harry. He remembered the ugly drawings of the women in his notes. "I… I think he saw her, and couldn't stop himself." Sliding his gaze down the corpse, Harry could see the Resurrection Stone, a black dot in his hand.

"Saw her? You said she is dead?"

Reaching over, Harry plucked the stone from his dead hand, and held it up for Fleur to see. "Do you know the story of the Deathly Hallows?"

Fleur's eyes widened. "It can't be… It is simply a story for children." She spoke doubtfully, but Harry could see the wonder behind her eyes, and the want to believe.

"They're not."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because… I'm the Master of Death."

Perhaps such a statement would have been comical, and Fleur might have laughed had they been anywhere else, but with the grisly death of Nicolas Flamel, and Harry dressed in blood, it was all so terribly serious. "Cloak and wand and… stone." He pulled them out, one by one, holding them all in his possession.

"That— This… 'Arry, this is incredible! People have been searching for the hallows for centuries, and now—"

"I need to destroy the stone." Harry said, and Fleur looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. And before she could even open her mouth to speak, Harry left the vault and went back to the laboratory.

A certain madness had come over him. Tearing through shelves and cupboards, and pulling out centuries of books and papers, he couldn't find them anywhere. He tried summoning them, but as he expected, that did not work either. Searching high and low he came up empty, until by chance he looked to the pit dug into the ground. There, sitting in the space where they were created, were the three stones in their stone bowls. Harry picked them up and brought them over to a workbench.

"'Arry." With a wide swipe of his wand, Harry cleared the surface, sending up a shower of notes and quills that fluttered down to the ground. "'Arry!" Reaching into the bowls, he could feel a stone both cold a wet, another that filled him with warmth, and a third that gave forth no feeling.

"'Arry!" Harry was jerked around to face Fleur, who's face was red with anger, but also held a touch of fear. "What are you doing? What do you mean you have to destroy the stone? Do you know the importance of such an artifact?"

"Better than most," Harry snapped back.

"Then you know why it can't be destroyed!"

"It's exactly why it has to be destroyed!" Harry pulled himself away from Fleur. Drawing his wand, he sliced it down his palm cutting straight through the skin.

Almost instinctually Fleur grasped his hand with her own, not caring for the blood spreading between their fingers. "'Arry, what is going on?" She sounded afraid now. _I am too,_ he wanted to say. Instead he dislodged her hand, but she quickly grabbed it with the other. "Please… tell me… I want to understand. You are frightening me."

There was no use in hiding it anymore, everything had changed. Taking a deep breath, he looked her steadily in the eye. "I told you that in order to win this war, to defeat Voldemort, I need to die. That is what the stone is for."

"You can't—"

Lifting his bloody hand into the air, he stopped her before continuing himself. "There is something inside me… something evil, that needs to be destroyed." He could see Fleur opening her mouth to speak again. "Just listen, _please_ , let me speak. Do you remember that day in Grimmauld Place when Dumbledore brought me back from the Lethifolds, where I told you about the connection through my scar?" She nodded. "It wasn't just a connection… it was a part of himself. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, a portion of his soul latched on to my mother's protection inside me." Harry swallowed thickly. "If I want to kill him, then this part of me needs to die as well."

"To kill a part of yourself, is to kill all of yourself. It is impossible Harry."

"As impossible as living over six centuries?" Harry said, and a certain amount of understanding flashed within Fleur's eyes. "That's why I came here, for Flamel's help. I needed him to find a way."

"But he is dead now." She warned.

"It doesn't matter – I don't have another choice." With that, he lifted his hand over the first bowl, letting his blood drip over the surface of the stone. _My blood is the anchor._ As the stone basin began to fill, he could feel something shift in the air. His heart began to beat faster and faster, almost erratically so, and Harry gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. It took a moment for Harry to realize that it wasn't his own heart he was feeling, but the pulsing of the stone within the bowl. The blood bubbled, and then there was a blinding flash. Harry cried out in pain. It was as though red-hot hooks dug into his flesh, tearing and melting skin with its hold.

"'Arry!" Fleur screamed. "Stop this!"

"I can't!" He shouted back through gritted teeth. "I have to do this. Nicolas made it this far, I have to see it through. There's nobody else who can save me."

"He is dead, 'Arry! Flamel is dead! You don't know what you are doing!" Harry could hear the tears through her voice.

"I know enough." Harry grunted as the rakes dug deeper, reaching and pulling at something that didn't want leave. He lifted his hand to the next bowl, spreading his blood across the second stone.

"This is madness! You are going to die! Stop this! Stop this please! I love you! I can't watch you kill yourself!" Fleur ran forward to stop him, but was held back by some invisible force. The magic in the room swirled like the beginning of a storm, and Harry stood in its eye. The flames of the great pit shot to life, blazing almost twenty feet in height. Glass was shattering, and shelves were creaking, and everything in the laboratory felt as though it was on the verge of bursting from some unseen pressure. Harry heard an explosion, and flying silver shards cut dangerously through the air like knives. Around the room, the intricate spinning instruments were popping like balloons into puffs of colorful smoke and deadly shrapnel. It was chaos.

And then there was a second flash.

Harry's mouth filled with copper, and he spat out red. His tongue was throbbing with pain, and for a moment he thought he'd bitten half of it off. Ice filled his veins, a stark contrast to the hellish fire that scraped his skin. He could feel something holding on to him, grasping with frozen fingers that closed like a vice. Then the hooks pulled, and Harry felt as though he was being torn in two. He'd never experience such agony before. Through the buzzing of his ears he could hear Fleur wailing after him, but Harry was too busy holding on to the remnants of his cracking psyche. Red, then white, then black, the world flashed in his mind. _I'm dying_. It was the only thought that could make sense of his suffering.

Somehow, through all this madness, Harry managed to touch the third stone. He never saw the final flash, only felt the world open up beneath him and swallow him hole. He floated in a void – earth, space, and the universe around him gone, leaving him in a different plane of existence. In his hand, where it hadn't been before, was the Resurrection Stone. _Three turns_ , he told himself, the pain a distant memory in this strange new place. He closed his eyes, and found that it rolled easily in his hand.

"Hello, Harry." He opened his eyes. More than ghosts, and less than warm living flesh, they stood all around him. Red hair and shining green eyes looked at him with a smile that spoke nothing but love.

"Mum…" He whispered emotionally before he could help himself.

"My beautiful boy… you've grown so much." She was so beautiful it hurt. He could see the ghost of tears at the edge of her eyes, but her face shone with immeasurable joy. They looked at one another as though they would never turn away.

Harry felt a familiar weight on the crook of his nose, and reached up to touch it with his fingers.

"They're there, son, we see you. We've only ever seen you." Harry turned to his father, who had a smile even wider than his wife's, and one that looked to be delighting in some secret jape. Without thinking, Harry ran a hand through his hair, thick and tangled and messy – just like his father. "We're so proud of you… everything you've been through," James said, with a more serious look on his face, but one just as happy.

"Your protection," Harry said suddenly, turning back to his mother.

"Is gone," said Lily with an easy smile. "It kept you alive.. but without it you can now survive, which to us is more important than the price I paid."

"Then the horcrux is gone?" Harry couldn't help the hope that leaked into his voice.

"Destroyed, and sent to a place that monsters like Voldemort deserve." It was Sirius who spoke, younger and more handsome than the man who suffered through thirteen years of Azkaban. An easy-going grin danced across his lips, and sparkling grey eyes looked to him with laughter. "I've missed you, Harry."

"I miss you too, Sirius. All of you, I miss you so much." Harry turned to face them. They were all so young – hardly older than himself, and gone before their time. This was the price of being the Chosen One, the price of the prophecy and those who stood in its way.

"We've never left you, Harry," said Lily, her hand clenched over her heart.

"Every step of the way, we've been with you," James said.

"And you'll never leave?" Harry asked, he couldn't quite keep the quiver out of his voice.

"Never," Sirius said. "We'll be with you until the very end."

Harry swallowed, doing his utmost to choke down the emotions that threatened to drown him. "Where am I?"

"The doorway between the physical and the spirit." Harry started at the sound of a new voice. Dressed in snowy white robes, and as old as Harry could remember him, was Nicolas Flamel.

"It worked?" He found himself saying.

"Of course it worked! No thanks to you running in and trying the ritual without thought." He sobered suddenly. "Though I am proud of your strength in seeing it through without me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," Harry apologized.

"It is my fault, Alic." Flamel gave Harry a tired smile. "It was I who fell to the temptations of the stone. I should never have used it to call for Perenelle. I was always a weak man, and lost whatever strength I had left with Perenelle's death. The price of immortality is high, and I was foolish to try and reverse nature. In death I am with her again, and that is all that matters."

It was strange talking to the man here, when he'd spoken to him not hours before. He could almost still feel the warmth of his blood on his hands. The stone took Flamel for its own, just as it did the second brother. It was no wonder the story of the hallows was used as a cautionary tale.

Harry could feel the presence of another, one who'd only just arrived and had yet to speak. A calming presence he'd only ever known in one individual. Turning, he noticed that the rest had vanished, leaving him alone with Albus Dumbledore, dressed in his favorite set of cerulean robes that shimmered with each step.

"It seems the rumours of my survival are greatly exaggerated," he chuckled deeply, fingering his long white beard.

"But your body? They said it wasn't found." Harry had never believed the tale Viktor had spun, but still, he felt a rush of relief knowing that Dumbledore was, in fact, truly at rest.

"A simple magic trick, that is all. I did not wish to leave my earthly remains to Tom's tender mercies. I lay at peace with those I love."

"Then why do people think you're still alive? And why do they think I'm dead?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and readjusted the half-moon spectacles sitting on his crooked nose. "We are not all knowing, Harry, that is a fact you must understand."

"But my parents… they told me they were with me," Harry protested.

"And they are, just as I am," Dumbledore said gently. "The dead are forever with those who hold them close in their heart, Harry. But we do not see all – only feel through those that we love."

"Why? Why didn't you tell me about all this?" Harry asked painfully, and Dumbledore looked away in shame.

Time passed strangely in this plane, and it was quite a while before Dumbledore responded. "Because I was afraid. Not for what this knowledge would do to you – for you are much stronger than I could ever have hoped to be – but what it would have done to me. I could not bear to tell you the fate you faced, nor of my approaching demise."

"But what about your plan?"

"I had many plans that I tinkered with night and day, using the most of the limited time I had on earth to come up with a solution. There was another…" Dumbledore paused, and looked away from Harry. "One that led down another path, though whether it was a more difficult one I am unsure. However, circumstances changed, and my hand was forced."

"And you led me to Grindelwald." Harry's tone was hard, though he wasn't quite sure if he felt any anger.

"Blinded as I am by the love I hold for him, there is good left in Gellert. But there is also a darkness – a corruption that festers deep within him, and hungers for power. It breaks my heart knowing I put you in the position of letting him free, but there is value from his teachings, and Gellert was always a more powerful wizard."

"He left me," Harry said.

"He will be back," Dumbledore replied.

"How do you know? I thought you said you couldn't see everything."

Dumbledore laughed and looked to Harry with pride. "I do not need to see, in order to know that he will eventually return to you."

Harry looked around the vast emptiness that surrounded him, and could feel the beginnings of a slight chill that hadn't been there previously. He knew it was almost time. "How do I get back?"

Dumbledore glanced down to Harry's hand.

"I destroy the stone?"

"As it should have been all those years ago."

"And if I don't?"

Sad blue eyes met his own. "Then you will remain at these crossroads. Separated from us, as we will be from you."

It was his own decision to make.

"One final piece of advice from an old soul such as myself," Dumbledore spoke up with a twinkle in his eye. "Keep in mind the story of The Three Brothers. Each of the Hallows has its powers, and each has its fate. We all love you, Harry, and do remember what I told you – live and love." Harry nodded, and watched his mentor slowly slip away in a white mist.

He didn't need to call them back to say goodbye, he knew they were with him, and one day they would join him again. With a smile spread across his face and a surge of renewed strength, he crushed the stone.

 **AN:**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter! Some big moments, and a shock death. Killing Flamel was... hard, but necessary. I really liked writing him and it was sad seeing him go, but the story has to move on and Flamel was never a long term player.** **I don't take pleasure in killing characters, and I try to make sure that each death holds some sort of meaning or follows a certain theme.**

 **Let me know your thoughts. I'm really interested in reading your reviews on this chapter, and where the story might take us next.**


	30. Chapter 30

A Beautiful Lie - An Afternoon in Paradise

Light flooded in from high arched windows, bright lances that pierced through his eyelids. Harry stirred, feeling a downy, heavy fabric weigh over him, and pulled it closer to his body to keep in the warmth. It was like sleeping on a cloud, and he'd just woken from the strangest of dreams. One with his parents, Sirius, Flamel and Dumbledore, speaking to them as though they were back together and with him. Only then did he quickly realize it hadn't been a dream.

Shooting up out of the covers wrapped tightly around his body, Harry looked to his hands and saw that both were empty. The stone was gone. The blood was gone. He was shirtless as well, cool air licking the bare skin of his chest, and scanning the room, he couldn't find a trace of his clothing or possessions. _My cloak, my wand…_

Harry's mind went into a panic, and he jumped off of the large, comfortable bed he had been sleeping on. _Where the bloody hell am I?_ This wasn't Beauxbatons. Looking out the windows and onto the grounds below, he saw no mountains with towering peaks, only hills and flat grass fields. The room itself was far less lavishly decorated as well, though still more tasteful and expensive than most other homes had any right to be.

He'd woken up in a strange place, with none of his things, and Harry couldn't help but feel a vulnerability come over him. He needed to find them. Checking frantically, they weren't under the bed or in the drawers of dressers and cupboards, and the only closet in the room was as bare as he was.

Cracking open the door with hardly a sound, Harry crept out of the room in search of his things. A wooden bannister ran along his right side, opposite to which was a wall decorated with hanging portraits, its occupants still dozing away quietly with buzzing snores. _A wizarding family,_ he realized, though he'd figured as much already.

A soft trickle of music could be heard from floors below – unfamiliar, yet pleasant on the ears.

Three other rooms were found alongside his own on the third floor, two of which were vacant, and the other being a simple bathroom. Snooping through rooms in a house that did not belong to him wasn't the politest of things to do, but none of that mattered to Harry until he found his wand and knew where he was being held.

The layout of the second floor mirrored that of the third, though this time only the bathroom was unlocked. The other doors refused to budge, and some enchantment on the doorknobs made it increasingly uncomfortable to hold the more he tried. Giving up on breaking in, and with a tingling hand, Harry made his way further down the stairs.

The music was louder now, a jazzy sort of number about love and sorrow and loss filled the area. Underneath it all, he could hear soft murmurings in French from somewhere deeper in the house.

A gentle breeze circulated the main floor, and Harry could feel it between his legs as he stepped down. He figured a door or window must have been left open, because the freshness of the air was crisp on his tongue and sent goosebumps up his skin. Though with the breeze came a strange feeling, and Harry found his eyes glancing down in trepidation. It seemed that his nakedness was not limited to his upper body. _How did I not notice that?_

There were towels in the washroom, he remembered, but what if he ran into someone he hadn't seen before? Could he risk creeping back up the stairs? Without his wand he couldn't conjure any clothing either, and finding it proved to be the most pressing issue.

 _Why do I find myself in these ridiculous situations?_ He decided it would be best to venture further into the house in search of his things, but not before grabbing a cushion from a nearby chair.

Slowly, he circled a stretched table in the dining room, and loped across a soft carpet spread over a hardwood floor. On the mantle above the fireplace he could see a collection of photographs, and he looked to see if he could recognize anyone. But the frames sat empty, likely that their subjects had scampered off in hiding from the harsh glare coming from the morning sun.

Scanning the room once more, there wasn't a hint of any of his belongings.

Peering into the kitchen, around the frame of a door situated next to a boiling kettle, Harry could make out a couple huddled together over a small folded table. A record player spun away to their right, drowning out the words of their conversation. The man was an overly plump fellow with close-cropped hair and a pointed black beard; while the woman was tall and elegant, with pale shining hair put up in a set of rollers. They chatted between bites of pastry and sips of steaming coffee.

 _SSHRRRIIEEeeee_

Harry jumped at the sudden shrieking sound, and knocked his shoulder into the doorframe with painful force. He grunted at the impact, as the kettle continued to scream harshly into his ear. Another scream, almost as high in pitch, burst forth, and Harry turned back to see the woman staring at him, wide-eyed and white. There was a _clink_ and a _crash_ as the man beside her dropped his cup with a dumbfounded look across his fleshy face. From white to red, their complexions turned, and Harry noticed they weren't looking at his face… but lower. _What are they staring at?_ Turning his eyes down with growing horror, his cushion sat lamely on the tile floor.

There was a pause where they all stared at one another, unmoving, and without speaking. Harry quickly snatched back the cushion, and in the midst of his embarrassment, he wondered what he must have done in a previous life to deserve his rotten luck.

"Er… Do you happen to know where I might find my wand?" Harry felt his face come aflame. "Umm—You know… uh, of the wooden variety?"

Neither of the couple had blinked at this point, and Harry was beginning to question whether he had broken them with his brazen display. "You don't by any chance happen to know where I might be as well, do you?"

Without uttering a single word, the man reached into the inside pocket of his robes and pulled out a familiar looking pouch. An awkward moment passed where neither of them wanted to look each other in the eye. Harry refused to take another step forward and the man was reluctant to come any closer, and in the end he settled on tossing it over. Harry caught it, making sure to keep one hand holding the cushion in place.

Reaching into the mokeskin pouch, Harry pulled out his single set of spare robes and fresh undergarments. "You didn't think about leaving this in the room for me?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Apologies, Monsieur Potter, but it was all soaked in blood upon your arrival." The man quirked a dark eyebrow at Harry.

 _Fair enough,_ Harry thought. "Er… thanks for giving it a wash then," he said sheepishly. Throwing the robe around his shoulders, Harry quickly spun around and pulled on his underwear, before returning to his hosts. He left the cushion on the floor, unsure what to do with it now that its usefulness had run out.

Suddenly, the woman burst into hysterics, giggling uncontrollably behind a hand that tried – and failed – to cover her mouth. It went on for quite some time, minutes if Harry had to guess. Each time she looked to either Harry or her husband, a new fit started where the old one hadn't even ended.

"My wife, Apolline." It seemed as though he had given up on waiting for her to control her laughter. "And I am, Laurent." He stood and walked over to Harry, now that he was in far more appropriate dress. "Welcome to the Delacour household, it is good to see you up and about." Upon exchanging greetings, he dipped his hand into another pocket and pulled out the Elder Wand.

Harry snatched it back impolitely, unable to help himself, and the wood sang against the flesh of his palm. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Fleur brought me here?"

"Yes, just over a week ago. Though we remain in the dark as to why you appeared in such a state, and how you are, in fact, alive." The frown creased across his brown gave away his true feelings on the situation.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, scratching at the mess that was his bedhead.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Apolline Delacour spoke having finally recovered, and she offered a plate of pastries. Despite their similarities, Apolline had more avian features than her daughters – a sharper nose, narrower face, and piercing dark eyes. Harry accepted the plate, feeling the hollowness of his stomach clench at the thought of food.

"I don't mean to be rude… but will Fleur be returning soon?" Harry asked some time later, after finishing the light breakfast.

Laurent looked to say something, but Apolline answered before he could. "Fleur 'as taken to checking in twice a day. She should be 'ere within the hour." Her English was not quite as clear as her husbands.

Harry nodded with a sense of relief. At least he would get a semblance of what was going on. "Thank you again… for everything," Harry said, standing from his place at the table, "and I apologize for the way I walked in earlier. I was kind of panicked and really wanted to find my stuff…" He rubbed at the burn running along his jaw. "I promise you will have some answers later."

Monsieur Delacour seemed pleased with that, granting Harry his first smile. "Your thanks are much appreciated. We trust our daughter… and you as well – this has all just been a little too unexpected for our normally quiet lives."

Harry could understand that, and expressed his sentiments. Putting his plate away, Harry exited the kitchen and found himself following the direction of the breeze he felt earlier. It was coming from a sliding door that had been left open down the hall, and Harry stepped through outside.

Immediately, the warmth of the sun came spilling over his skin. It washed him in a feeling that brought an unbridled grin to his face, and with each lungful of air, he felt himself relaxing further. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful place, and he was at peace – a feeling he hadn't experienced in far too long.

Harry reached to touch his scar, knowing he would never feel anything from it again. _I'm free…_ He could hardly believe it, but the Horcrux was gone. The ugly shadow that had hung over his life for months on end, was no more. _I'm alive_. The Boy Who Lived indeed.

A hill grew out from the far side of the house, and walking in its direction, the air swept by carrying a sweet and familiar scent. Standing at the hill's edge, he looked down to the land below, and had his breath stolen away. It was a sea of purple as far as the eye could see, with waves rippling across the surface with each gentle puff of wind. Harry was certain he could drown in the loveliness of it all. Dropping to the soft cushion of the grass, Harry spread himself out, and stared off to the horizon and its flowery depths.

Taking off his mokeskin pouch, he opened its lip and upended its contents to the ground. Before him sat the remains of his earthly possessions, a motley collection of items that wouldn't have looked out of place in Dervish and Banges store of wizarding oddities.

Nearest to him, Harry picked up a large sheet of worn parchment and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Seemingly from nothing, lines of ink crisscrossed the blank page and a map of Hogwarts formed before his eyes. Though much to his disappointment, it was empty. Hardly a name could be found, likely in that it was the end of term; though a darker thought flitted across his mind: perhaps the school never reopened after the battle – he couldn't be sure which it was.

The ghosts of Hogwarts could be seen roaming the halls: Sir Nicholas floating over by the Black Lake with the Fat Friar, and Helena Ravenclaw sitting lonely up in her tower. A smile crept upon his lip seeing Hagrid walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but it quickly disappeared when he looked to the Headmaster's Office. A pair of footprints, and the name _Severus Snape_ were printed across the page, pacing back and forth almost impatiently, in the place behind Dumbledore's old desk.

A sudden rage filled Harry's throat like vomit, and he snapped the map shut. "Mischief managed," he spat in disgust, unable to stomach the thought of Snape taking Dumbledore's position. _He doesn't deserve to sit where he sat._

Closing his eyes, he let the smell of lavender soothe his anger, and eventually he could feel it disappear into a distant thrum.

Putting the map back into the pouch, along with his cloak, the snitch, and Dumbledore's box of memories, he eventually reached a strange golden locket, inlaid with green gemstones in the shape of a serpentine S. He could feel his pulse begin to pick up. It was a locket he knew well – though one he'd put out of mind since the discovery of himself as a Horcrux. But with it now gone… the locket stared challengingly up into his face.

Fisting the piece of jewelry, he noticed almost immediately that it felt too light in his hand. _I don't feel anything from it,_ the second thought hit him almost as quick. There was a feel to Voldemort's magic: malevolent and vicious and dangerous beyond measure. The locket was none of those things – only a prettier version of a paperweight. Snapping its hinges open, a folded white bundle tumbled out. Harry almost knew what it would say before reading it.

 _To the Dark Lord,_

 _I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.  
R.A.B._

Harry crumpled the letter in his fist. _It's a fake…_ For such a lovely day, he'd now encountered his fair share of bad news. The world certainly had a dark sense of humor.

"'Arry?" A melodic voice called, and Harry glimpsed Fleur rising above the top of the hill. Her hair was shining gold in the sunlight, and she wore a light summery dress printed with colored flowers. At the sight of him, her eyes sparkled with life, and she hurried down the hill to the place next to him. "My parents told me you had woken. I am so glad to see you are alright!"

Arms wound their way around Harry's neck, and he found himself pulled into a tight embrace.

"Is that all they told you?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

Fleur cocked her head to the side. "Yes… was there anything else?"

"No," he said quickly, counting his blessings, "nothing at all – they're very nice people, your parents are."

She gave him a blinding smile. "I hope Papa was not too prickly with you. Maman told me he is simply annoyed with all of the blood stains he had to clean off the floors and carpet."

Harry cringed, he remembered a lot of blood.

"I think he wants to know what is going on," said Harry. "I mean, I would as well while we're at it. Why am I here? Not that I'm complaining or anything, the view is pretty extraordinary."

"This is my favorite place in the entire world," she let out a deep sigh and lay down beside him, her hair tickling the skin of his cheek. After a long moment of silence, drinking in the perfection of their surroundings, she flipped to her side and met his gaze with a slight shiver. "After you finished that blood ritual… there was an explosion in the laboratory. I found you, covered in blood, under a pile of books and shelves and rubble. The shockwave was so strong I thought the entire dungeon was going to collapse on top of us." She shifted on the grass, which brought her closer to him. "The entire school felt the blast, and they all thought Grindelwald had come to attack. I could hear the screaming. I knew the protocols in such a situation, and that everyone was to be taken to the dining hall for protection, so I took advantage of that. I couldn't let them see you – not in the state you were in. Madam Maxime's floo was unguarded, and I managed to take you home while everyone was distracted."

"How did they not notice you were missing?"

"They did. When I came back, I went to my room for Gabrielle, and I said I had gone looking for her when I felt the palace shake. My team was furious that I broke protocol, and I have been placed on temporary suspension since. I've been in and out of the office all week for debriefing and re-training."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again, "You did that for me?"

Fleur's eyes were blue and honest on his. "Of course."

Harry swallowed thickly, trying to process her words. It was difficult, and instead he chose to turn his mind to something else. "What happened to Viktor?"

Her face dimmed slightly, before answering. "Viktor was sent out into the mountains to search – I couldn't say anything about the attack never truly happening. Luckily, they called it off quickly, but now he's back at Durmstrang helping the investigation there. He told me he'd visit soon, though his word isn't as sure as it once was."

Harry hummed noncommittally, fiddling with the paper in his fist.

"What is there?" Fleur asked, looking at the crumpled parchment with intrigue.

"Another disappointment." Harry laughed bitterly. "Do you know a man with the initials R.A.B. – a Death Eater, maybe, or anyone else?"

Fleur scratched at the side of her head, her eyes staring off in thought. A minute went by before her head twitched, catching Harry's attention. "Was there not a Regulus Black who lived at Grimmauld Place? The room you were staying in after your injury… I remember something being written across the door," she pointed out.

Harry nearly slapped himself for being so foolish. _Sirius' brother, he always hated talking about him… but he must have switched sides in the end._ Harry could have kissed Fleur in that moment, and for a heartbeat he almost wanted to. "You're brilliant," he settled for instead, "bloody brilliant, Fleur! Kreacher would know." He jumped to his feet in excitement. "Sirius used to tell me that Kreacher was close with Regulus. Kreacher would definitely know more about it! We'll have to ask him when we get back to Britain."

Fleur was looking at him strangely, with a red flush to her cheeks. "What?" Harry questioned, seeing her like this.

"We?" said Fleur.

"Of course, why wouldn't we…" Harry trailed off, a strange clenching taking hold of his stomach, though not in hunger this time.

"I can't go back, 'Arry."

"Can't go back or won't go back?"

How quickly the conversation turned.

"Does it really matter? They will not accept me – not after everything I did."

"I'm sure– "

"I left without word! Both the Order and the Weasleys, none will have any cause to trust me!"

 _And I can't entirely blame them if they don't._ Harry knew it was true. "Is that all that's holding you back? The fear of what other people might think of you? I thought you more than that, Fleur." He couldn't keep some of the disappointment out of his words.

The look she sent him in return was heated. But taking a deep breath, she let it pass. "I work for the government, 'Arry… I cannot simply leave."

"A government that forced you to spy on people you cared about, and work with goblins who hated and punished you because of what you are. It seems to me they don't care a lick about you! They just suspended you for Merlin's sake!"

"I don't need this lecture from you, I hear it enough from my parents to begin with!" She rolled from the grass back onto her feet, and stood across from Harry. "With this job, I feel as though I can make a difference."

"There are other ways of making a difference."

"You need to let go of this unhealthy distrust you hold towards the government, 'Arry."

"Why?" Harry shouted, his voice carrying very loudly across the open meadow. "So that I can sit back and watch even more politicians bungle this damn war?"

"To end this war— "

"I'm the one who is going to end this war – not the ICW – it's going to be me! It was always going to be me! It has to be me! Can't you see that?" He gave Fleur a pleading look. "It ends with me and Voldemort, and when it comes down to that, it won't be the ICW I want by my side, but the people I care about."

Harry couldn't see Fleur's reaction, as she'd bent over to pick something up from the ground. Holding it up, there was a strange look in her eye, and he knew why. Glittering gold in her fingers was a chain of intricately intertwined metal, with precious stones and cut glass arranged in the fashion of flowers.

"It fell from my pouch, I emptied it earlier to see what was left inside." Harry wasn't sure why he felt the need to make an excuse.

Before he could say anything else, Fleur dropped the chain, turned her back, and took off down the hill.

Summoning the pouch to his hand, along with the rest of the items, Harry shoved them back in their place and went after her. She was a lot faster than he expected, but his long legs covered more ground and he quickly gained on her. "Fleur!" He shouted, and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Fleur, stop!"

"Laissez-moi!" She tried to push him away, but he held on.

"I didn't even know it was there. I'm being honest – all I was doing was emptying out my pouch, and it was in there with everything else. I must have put it in there some time ago and forgot about it."

" _Leave me_ _ **,"**_ her words were muffled by her head in her hands. Harry gently pulled them away, feeling a slight slickness. "Don't look at me, I'm being foolish… _Stop_ , leave me alone."

"You're not… it's okay," Harry said quietly, pulling her closely against his chest as if to protect her. "It's fine, you've been through a lot lately. _Shhhh_ , let it all out." He could feel her shaking against him, and the material of the robe sticking to his skin. " _Sshhh,_ it's okay…"

They stood there together, in the middle of the open yard, for some time. Harry held Fleur, a pillar of silent support as she let out whatever was troubling her.

"I'm sorry…" she mumbled.

"No, don't be, it's alright," Harry said, running his hand through her silky hair.

"I do not know why I acted this way. It is just – all of these pressures with work and the war and worrying about you… and then I saw her gift… I don't know what came over me."

"It's fine," Harry hushed. "You don't have to worry about Daphne, I don't even know where she is. I haven't heard anything from her. She… she rap— she _used_ me as well. I don't know if I could forgive her – maybe… but I doubt I'll ever see her again, so we'll never know."

"You don't love her?"

Harry was startled by the question. He thought he'd misheard, but he hadn't.

 _You know who I love,_ he wanted to say. "No," he said instead, shaking his head, and then he pulled Fleur closer to him. "What are we going to tell your parents?" He asked after a sense of calm settled between them.

Peeling away from him, Fleur looked up through red, hazy eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Your parents want to know what is going on, what do we tell them? I don't think the truth would be the best idea."

"Perhaps we tell them only a portion," she suggested.

"Like what?"

"That you came to Beauxbatons in hiding after escaping Hogwarts, and have been living there in secret since."

"Sure, but that doesn't quite explain why I came in covered with enough blood to stain your carpets and walls."

Fleur slapped him lightly over the shoulder, and sniffled a laugh. "Then perhaps we say that you had a mission, and I found you after you came back from a fight."

"I think that could work…" Harry agreed. The story did not have be to detailed or foolproof, only just enough to get Fleur's parents on board. "Also, I like how it makes me sound hard."

"'Arry… I don't think there is a person in the world who could invent a story that sounds more hard than anything you've actually been through."

"Huh, I guess you're right. Stabbing a sixty-foot Basilisk is kind of hard to beat."

She rolled her eyes at him.

Together, they walked back to her childhood home. Harry wasn't sure how a house could simply be described as 'French,' but that was all he could think of when seeing it. The day had grown hotter, to the point that Harry could feel a light perspiration on his skin; and more windows were left hanging open from the house, allowing entrance to the brisk afternoon breeze.

The kitchen was empty upon their return, though music continued to stream from the record player. Fleur appeared to enjoy the track sung by a Frenchwoman, taking a moment to turn the volume up, before leading Harry further into the home. It was in a sitting room, tucked away in the corner of the house that they found her parents.

Both were reading, but it was Apolline who saw them first. Putting down her book, she rose and kissed her daughter on the cheek, just as Laurent followed to do the same. "Did you enjoy the afternoon sunshine?" Monsieur Delacour asked, looking to Harry.

"Very much," Harry said with a smile. "Your home is quite magnificent."

"Apolline will be pleased by that," he chuckled lightly. "It had been my idea to raise the family in Paris, but I have since learnt the error of my ways. You will never find a more beautiful summer anywhere else in the world."

As strange a comparison as it was to make, the Delacour home reminded him of the Burrow. Its vast countryside made the home feel a world onto itself, and he could imagine many lazy days spent here outdoors. He decided to keep the thought to himself.

"Is there something you wished to say?" Apolline asked from her reclined position on a chaise. The rollers from earlier had been removed, and now her hair tumbled in long waves passed her shoulders. She looked more like Fleur now.

"Oui, Maman, there is." Fleur spoke up, and glanced imperceptibly over to Harry. "I am sorry for keeping this all a secret, but I did not want to say anything until Harry was okay and I'd talked it over with him first."

Nobody said anything, and her parents looked at the two of them attentively.

"I was given a mission from Dumbledore," Harry took over. He didn't want to make Fleur lie to her parents. "After the battle at Hogwarts, I was forced to leave England. I moved around the continent a bit, but eventually I ended up hiding at Beauxbatons, and from there I was able to come and go as I needed. I got myself into a spot of trouble the other day, and only just managed to get back to Beauxbatons, and that's when Fleur found me."

Apolline nodded silently, satisfied – or perhaps too uncertain to say anything else. "How did you manage to find the school to begin with? We aren't as secretive as Durmstrang, but the location is not well known," Laurent asked from the side.

"Dumbledore had a… friend who worked there, and they took me in." Harry answered, but Laurent seemed to expect more. "It was Wulfric, the historian."

"Old Wulfric? He still works there? Incroyable!" Laurent let out an amused snort. "He worked at Beauxbatons when I was a student, and my father before me. He must be ancient!"

 _Was ancient…_ Harry did his best to keep his face straight and void of emotion.

"Well then, that matter is settled!" Laurent bounced to his feet, his belly swaying slightly with the movement. "We are glad to have you in our home, Harry. May I call you Harry? Of course I can, you are our guest, non?" It was as though he was meeting at a completely different person. Gone was the cautious and slightly serious man, and in his place was a bubbly rotund Frenchman, born to smile. "Come let us have a drink! Some wine perhaps – a toast to the memory of the good old days. To Wulfric perhaps?"

Harry turned to look at Fleur with poorly hidden shock, and she giggled.

"Papa…" Fleur interrupted, still laughing. "'Arry must still be quite tired, it is his first day awake after all. Perhaps we could wait a bit?"

"Yes, Laurent, Fleur speaks sense." Apolline stood and latched herself to the arm of her husband. "Let us wait for dinner for any special celebrations."

"To dinner, yes, a fine idea." Harry wanted to chortle, he'd never seen a man look so excited for dinner, not even Ron. For a moment he questioned if he'd just met Horace Slughorn's French twin. "Come Apolline, we must first pick a good vintage. Tonight we dine as a family."

And with that, the couple left the room.

"I guess he must have forgotten about all of those bloodstains I left behind…"

"Papa's memory is selectively short at times," said Fleur, picking up her parents' books and putting them away.

"I'm surprised your parents like me so much," Harry said, watching Fleur move around the room.

"They have heard a lot of stories." She replied simply. Her eyes met his, and Harry found it difficult to look away.

"Well… er, I'm glad they don't mind me staying here." He didn't know what else to say, seeing Fleur like this made it hard for him to focus on anything but her.

"They very much enjoy hosting, especially all together like this. The last few years have been difficult on us… all of us."

Harry nodded, thinking he understood what she was saying.

"I can't wait for dinner then," he said with a grin. "But why did you say I'm tired? I'm perfectly alright – better than ever, in fact."

A mischievous gleam suddenly came over her pale eyes. "My father said that tonight we dine as a family. There is one more member to my family, if you have not forgotten?" She nibbled on her lip in a teasing way.

"Gabrielle? She's home?"

"Yes, term ended a couple of days ago. I thought we could take this time to go visit her. She must be in her room."

 _Why is she looking at me like that? That doesn't sound so bad._

Fleur could hardly control herself at this point, her face glowing, and body shaking with silent laughter.

"What is it?" Harry could feel that something was amiss.

"Nothing… It's just, she's hardly been able to shut up since she overheard us in the hallway. I'll let _you_ be the one to tell her that Alic and 'Arry Potter are the same person."

 _Oh no…_ Dread settled in his stomach. Fleur cackled. This was not going to be good.

 **AN:**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this latest update. It might be a little longer than usual before the next update comes out, at least a week or two (maybe three). But I'll do my best to get it out ASAP.**

 **A slight change in tone for this chapter, but it won't be all sunshine and rainbows for long.**

 **As always, do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Your reviews and feedback are much appreciated, and the constant support I receive from all of you motivates me to see this through.**


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Before we begin, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for being so patient for this story to update. I know it is much later than the estimated date I gave on my story update, but finally we are back. I have more to say, but I'll leave that for my AN at the end. I hope you enjoy!**

A Beautiful Lie - As the Seventh Month Dies

There were days where Harry thought something was wrong with him. And days where he knew there was.

The south of France was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Blue skies and warm nights interchanged seamlessly in the cycle of an endless summer. He struggled to remember the last time he'd seen the sun slip behind the cover of a cloud or the hint of rain on the horizon. The air was sweet, the breeze cool, and the world at peace. It was perfect.

Yet still he could not shake the irritation that pricked his core.

Sticking along his skin was a pale blue set of summer robes, smooth as silk, and darkening with his building perspiration. He was uncomfortable, broiling beneath the open sky. _It's only just a warm stretch,_ he reminded himself while peeling the damp fabric off his arm. He'd asked Apolline about the weather near a week ago as she sat on her favorite chaise for reading, only to find that his concerns over a heat wave were unfounded.

 _It will pass. Weather shifts and changes more than a moody metamorphmagus._ Except that was not the case. Nothing had changed in recent weeks, not the food, not the company, not the weather. Only himself.

It was fleeting at first, odd moments where something simply didn't feel right, but like a shadow, it grew. His moods grew darker by the day, pulling him deeper and deeper into a pit he was all too familiar with.

He wanted to act. To do something after sitting in hiding for so long. The draw of the Elder wand was a constant itch that called for his attention, thirsting for destruction.

Harry pulled at his collar. _The heat. It's only the heat._ He tried again to convince himself, but to no avail. The world had given him what he'd always wanted, and he'd come to hate it.

Off in the distance, Harry could just make out a streak of silver over the blue sky, and behind that a _whoop_ of joy. Even in his agitation a smile crept up the edge of his lips.

"Do you think she'll ever grow tired?" Grass crunched off to his side, though Harry's gaze did not break. His eyes continued to trace the soaring figure.

"I never did," he said simply.

"That doesn't make me feel any better." Harry could feel the light puff of Fleur's breath against his cheek, and turned just enough to see her clasp her arms around her knees.

"It's only the truth."

"An unfortunate one," Fleur hummed in response, staring off to where he'd been looking only moments before. _The world is filled with too many of those,_ Harry thought to himself as he admired her profile in silence: the point of her nose, the gentle curve of her jaw, and the loose hangings of hair that obscured her eyes. Not even her presence could make his time here any more bearable.

Harry wasn't even sure what day it was anymore, most likely the end of July or early August if he had to hazard a guess. _Not like it really matters anymore, I'm not going back to school._ He left Hogwarts a ruin, and Durmstrang was not faring any better. Was Beauxbatons the only school in Europe still standing? Perhaps some of his friends would be finishing their last year under Madame Maximes guidance, if they were fortunate enough to escape…

"She's quite good." Harry glanced up to find Fleur looking at him with a queer smile and glint in her eyes that he could not place.

"Of course she is," Harry said, a hint of pride coloring his voice, "I'm the one who taught her."

"You also tried to teach me." She quirked her brow at him as Harry ran a hand through his dark, shaggy hair.

"Unfortunately, you were a hopeless student." There was a gasp just before an elbow prodded him in the side.

He remembered that afternoon quite clearly despite it feeling as though a lifetime had passed since then. It was a day much like today, bright and cloudless and clear, and a time when everything seemed much more tolerable to Harry. It had been Gabrielle's birthday, and after a breakfast of crêpes and cake (to her specific request) a suspiciously shaped present was laid in front of her, all wrapped in parchment. "'Arry! 'Arry! 'Arry! Enseignez-moi, s'il vous plait! 'Arry!" He could still hear the excitement bursting from her with a new Nimbus in hand. She was crystal eyed, completely forgetting the anger she had been holding on to for weeks for hiding his identity from her. How could he possibly say no? And so went a many of afternoons teaching Gabrielle to fly.

"You've been gone all day. I thought you booked the day off work?" Harry said after a pause.

Fleur shifted herself to better face him. "I'm surprised that you even noticed."

Harry could feel the chill of her words, but he let them pass over him. The initial warmth that had built between them with his arrival at the Delacour home had slowly faded upon Fleur's return to the ICW. With the trail on Grindelwald falling cold, Fleur had been recalled to work much sooner than expected, with her suspension being lifted prematurely. "Just because I'm not around doesn't mean I don't pay attention," Harry said. _I can't afford to miss anything. Not anymore._

"Where do you even go?" She asked, nearly jumping up off the grass as Gabrielle pulled out of a wobbly dive that nearly saw her lose control of the broom.

Harry sat still, unworried, knowing the next dive would be better. _The one after that as well, and in twenty she'll be decent. She'll never stop making mistakes, but she'll learn from the old ones._ It was almost soothing watching her glide across the sky, learning to trust herself and the tool beneath her. He could feel a lone bead of sweat drip down the length of his spine as he continued to observe her progress, before finally answering. "Nowhere in particular. I just like the feeling of being out here." Harry shrugged, not wanting to mention how difficult it had become for him to stand the presence of others.

Here he was, waking to fresh meals and lazy days with people who cared for him, and rather than be thankful for finding the home he'd always wanted, his stomach was a mess of uneasy knots. Britain was submerged in darkness, exposed to Voldemort's cruelty, and here he was lounging in fields of green and purple. _My first real summer vacation._ The thought made Harry laugh.

Fleur turned to him, her eyes as pale as mirrors. Where once he could have drowned in their depths, he was now forced to turn away from the guilt that was reflected back at him. "Harry?" Fleur's voice was soft, and a warmth settled over his hand. He pulled away gently but she held firm.

A sharp buzz broke the still air from behind them, and Harry turned to see a folded piece of parchment swoop towards Fleur, who picked it out of the air. It reminded Harry of the airplanes that zipped around the Ministry carrying the memos of whatever business was going on. Fleur stood. It seemed she had been expecting the note. "Gabrielle! It's time to come inside!" She called in French, her voice amplified by the wand at her throat. Immediately, the young girl looped around and shot off in the direction of the house. "She'll give Maman a fit," Fleur laughed lightly to herself, though her eyes still searched his own.

"It comes with flying. Ron and the twins probably shaved years off of Mrs. Weasley's life with their antics." Closing his eyes, Harry could picture those memories as clear as day. Upon opening them, the only response was silence. Fleur walked a half-step ahead of him with her arms crossed under the buttons of her thin blouse. It took him only a moment to realize his mistake. _At least I'll have a few more minutes of silence…_

The silence did him no good. Soon the mere presence of Fleur and the sound of her footsteps was enough to disturb him. His skin was sticky like sap, clinging to his robes to the point where he felt wrapped like a mummy. Harry pulled at his collar, trying to circulate some amount of cool air around his body in relief. He thought of using a cooling charm, but dismissed it. Just the touch of the Elder Wand in his hand was enough to give him hot flashes.

The Delacour home rising over the crest of the hill was a welcome sight. _At least I'll be able to get out of this bloody sun._ A nice cool glass of water was in order, as well as a change of clothes.

Those thoughts quickly disappeared the moment he stepped into the home. It was strangely silent. Apolline couldn't be heard muttering softly to herself, book in hand, and the music that so often floated between rooms was noticeably absent. A stirring of suspicion grew within Harry. Turning to his right and then his left, Fleur was gone. His hand moved to the Elder Wand without grasping it.

A single, low groan sounded from the hardwood in front of him, just as a hulking figure stepped into the doorway. "Hello Harry." Their accent was thick and their face a scowl. "It is a velcome surprise, no?"

Harry laughed, short and abrupt. "It certainly is a surprise. What are you doing here Viktor?"

His old friend wore a half-smile, showing more emotion than his usual sulking self. It did well to make him look better than he actually was, lighting his dark eyes to distract from the heavy circles surrounding them; and wrinkling his cheeks, taking away from their sunken appearance. It was superficial, but Harry could see the weight of his troubles pressing down on him.

"Last time I saw you, you vere pig boy. Now I come visit and you are skinny again. Next time vill you be big and strong like me?" He asked with a level voice and a hard stare. There was a moment where nothing happened. Then he started coughing. _No, not coughing,_ Harry realized, _he's laughing_. It was joke. Harry wasn't sure if he could recall Viktor attempting humor in the past. "It is good to see the real Harry Potter again, especially on his birthday," he said.

 _Birthday?_ Harry's mind slowed in thought…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Harry nearly jumped, his hand brushed against his wand, sending heat crawling up his neck and black spots dancing in his eyes. Across the room he could see Fleur coming in holding a cake, and behind her, Apolline and Laurent, who's arms were bundled with several bottles of wine. A silver bolt came crashing into him, disorienting him further. "Joyeux anniversaire!" Gabrielle's voice was muffled against his torso.

Harry had yet to move an inch. _It's my Birthday._ He struggled to believe clicked by in his mind as he tried to count the time that had passed. It was impossible. One day bled into the next, with memories and frustrations mixing so that he could not place what went where. He pulled at his collar. _Seventeen,_ the number came to him, _I'm only seventeen._ He felt much older than that.

"A man," Viktor spoke again, smiling fully. "You could finally put your name in the Goblet if you vanted."

Harry smiled, though it felt false on his face. "Once was enough for me, thanks."

"Enough to come out victorious!" The boisterous voice of Monsieur Delacour joined in. He passed a glass of wine to Harry and floated another to Viktor, before sipping his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Fleur staring sharply at Viktor, who's brows furrowed deeply while drinking, ignoring her. "What ever happened to that prize money?"

Harry left his drink untouched off to the side. His head was pounding hard enough to begin with, and he would much prefer water. "I gave the money to some friends, it helped start their business."

Laurent took a seat and reclined, his glass resting against the curve of his belly. "Ah, a wise investment," he said.

 _It wasn't meant to be. I only wanted the blood off my hands._ Harry nodded instead.

"Come, enough talk. Let us eat and celebrate!" Apolline called from the dining room, where she had set an entire meal that seemed to appear out of thin air. The food was delicious, and across from him, Fleur sat beaming. He now understood what she had been up to all day. It was a shame he couldn't truly enjoy it, too put off by the heat of the others in the room. Outside, the sun was still strong, the summer days stretched long here in the south of France, and inside it was even worse.

The dinner dragged on endlessly, meaningless chatter filled the air, and at every opportunity Harry was pulled into the conversation. He tried to smile, he tried to converse, he tried to enjoy himself, but he just could not make himself comfortable. Fleur's eyes flickered between him and Viktor, who sat silently drinking more wine. His respite came with Gabrielle talking animatedly about flying and Apolline about her novels, but still they looked to Harry for his opinion.

Soon, the conversation turned to work, which proved to be enough to lift Viktor's head from his glass. It was menial at first, day-to-day business and office gossip and stories, but as the discussion continued, Harry could feel the pressure of Viktor's gaze on him…

"Your Ministry is doing vell," he said, his words slurring slightly.

Harry could feel his throat dry, and reached for his water. Viktor refilled his own glass. "Well?" Harry asked, unsure.

"Vell enough, I suppose." Viktor shrugged and drank deeply. "Ve had thought they vould have collapsed by now. From vat ve could learn Voldemort vas very close to taking over. There vas a plan in place for tomorrow to assassinate your Minister Scrimgeour. A pair of Aurors caught a Death Eater… Yaxley, I think vas his name, putting an Imperius curse on the head of the Department of Law."

"Which Aurors?" Harry asked abruptly.

Viktor clutched his head a moment, thinking, before shaking it. "I am not sure. I only know that Yaxley escaped, but not before killing the Department Head and injuring one of the Aurors."

A cord of dread wrapped around him. He desperately hoped that it wasn't Tonks who was injured. She had been through much and more in this war, and he wasn't sure if he could handle her possibly dying as saved the Ministry at least, he thought, looking at the bright side of the issue. Yaxley had gone free, but the fate he was facing might just be worse than death. On some nights, Harry could still hear Mulciber's broken screams echoing when he closed his eyes. Voldemort's mercies were pitiless and cruel. The taste of bile filled his mouth at the thought of their past connection.

"None of that matters," Viktor said, much louder than he likely intended to. His calloused hand reached out to refill his glass, and Fleur moved to slow him down. Without consideration, he brushed past her and refilled it to the brim, drinking deeply once again. The glass hit the table with a _smack_ , shooting red over its edges, where it pooled along the tablecloth like blood. "Voldemort doesn't matter. Not vith Grindelwald still out."

" _Viktor_ ," Fleur warned, her eyes darting to the rest of her family, who to this point sat quietly.

"Nothing. For months, nothing." His voice was heavy and gruff. "I do not sleep. I cannot rest. Not vith that bastard free."

"Fleur." Monsieur Delacour spoke quickly to his daughter, his wife's hand gripping his arm.

"For fifty years he rotted in Nurmengard, ven he sould have been killed. Dumbledore vas a coward!" Harry felt himself twitch. "He valks on ground soaked in blood. My grandfather's blood!" His fist smashed against the table, sending up wine and rattling cutlery, and suddenly his voice dropped dangerously. "Like a viper, he hides, vaiting and vaiting. But I am a hawk, patient, and vhen he strikes I vill be ready. I vill kill Grindelwald! Him and whoever is helping him! I VILL KILL THEM BOTH!"

"Viktor!" Fleur's voice cut like a knife. "Enough!" Her wand was pointed at his chest, her fingers shifting restlessly at its base.

Whatever spell of madness had fallen over him was lifted slowly like a veil. Hunched and clearly drunk he looked around the room speechless. He froze with a strange scowl on his face, staring at Gabrielle, who was wide-eyed and clearly shaken from what she'd just seen. Turning quicker than he should have, he stumbled over the legs of his chair, knocking the remainder of the wine out of his glass in his attempt to catch himself. "Excuse me… I need air." He fled the room.

Harry broke the silence. "I think I might leave as well…"

"No! No, no, it's fine—we're all fine!" Apolline's voice was high-pitched, and her wand fumbled in her hand as she tried to clear up most of the spill. "Come let us cut the cake."

It was decorated like a snitch, with a circle topped in golden icing and wide outstretched wings. It was impressive, but his mind was elsewhere. He hardly heard them sing to him in French, though in truth it was mostly Apolline carrying the tune with Gabrielle; Laurent stood with an endless stare and locked jaw, and Fleur was as pale as snow. He took his piece and it filled his mouth, but he tasted nothing.

Looking at them, and everything around him, he slowly came to a realization. _They don't get it. None of them do._ No matter how hard they tried to make the world seem as though it was perfect, it simply wasn't. Viktor understood that. He showed it tonight, and Harry could respect him for that.

Outside, the sun had fallen. With the night coming to a close, Laurent bundled his daughter upstairs, but not before a final birthday greeting. Apolline took away the leftover cake and cleared away the table, leaving only him and Fleur.

She looked to him with soft eyes. "I'm sorry about tonight. I wanted it to be a nice surprise."

"It was a surprise alright." Harry touched the table to center himself, feeling his head swim. "But thanks, it was… appreciated."

"I had a gift for you," Fleur said, and reached into her pocket. Harry's mind went to the last time they had shared a gift, and the way Fleur looked at him spoke that she did as well. "It isn't like the cloak, but… here, take it." She handed him something heavy that fit smoothly into the palm of his hand. It was a watch of some sort, silver and gleaming. It was beautiful in an antique way; militaristic, with worn scratches that had been carefully buffed out into thin lines. "It's a wizard's watch," she said, "it's tradition to be given when a wizard reaches their majority." Harry continued to stare, watching the planets spin around its outer edge, and several nameless dials spin counter to each other. "It's from Viktor and I… he told me it once belonged to his grandfather during the war. He wanted you to have it."

Harry's heart sank. Only seconds before it had been one of the most magnificent gifts he had ever received, and now he could hardly look at it. _I don't deserve this. Why did he give this to me? It's a curse._ The world was a cruel place.

Looking back up, Fleur stood only a foot away. "I know you aren't feeling well." Harry wanted to argue, but she pressed on. "I know staying here is difficult for you. But I wanted to show you that we care… and that there are things to live for…"

"I know there are things to live for," he said.

Somehow Fleur was only a breath away. "Then don't forget that, because I'll…" Her words faded unsaid, and then her lips were touching his. They were so soft and moving fervently, but quicker than they started, they were suddenly stopped. A violent _CRASH_ broke them apart.

" _Viktor,_ " he could hear her whisper, but her eyes continued to search his, and again he was faced with the reflection of his own guilt. Harry looked away. _I have everything I ever wanted, but I can't enjoy it like this. I never will…_

Fleur was gone by the time he recovered, rushing in the direction of the sound, leaving him alone. For the first time that evening he felt like he could breath. Oxygen filled his lungs, and his shoulders dropped in relief, releasing tension he didn't know he had been carrying. Taking his invisibility cloak from his pocket, he covered himself and stepped outside into the coming darkness. As it had been for weeks now, the cloak was his refuge, immediately freeing him from the pressing heat. But still his head continued to pound.

He travelled across the yard and down the hill the house rested on. Warmth still lingered in the twilight, though a breeze was now whistling through the air. Harry kept the cloak on, despite knowing the darkness was thick enough to cover him. He could feel the pull of the Elder Wand pricking his fingers like static, and looking around, he decided it was far enough. Grasping it, the wand jolted in his hand, its power coursing fiercely up his arm. His steps faltered with the burning pain, and Harry fought to keep moving. He'd done this numerous times before. He could do it again.

Ahead, he could see a great swaying mass stretching out in front of him like the black waves of an open ocean. Taking a step into its depths, the surface rippled around him from left to right, and with each step a sweetness was sent up that filled the air. This was his favorite part of the night, crossing this flowery sea.

Lavender clung to him, even hundreds of feet beyond the field. Harry did not mind, it made this last leg of the journey more bearable. The wand continued to pulse, growing stronger and stronger with each beat the further he travelled and the longer it went unused.

Growing from the ground in the distance was a grove he'd come across in his early explorations of the countryside. The trees stood dark and towering, like skeletal figures that had risen from the earth long ago. Through a break in the tress, a pool shone pale at the center of a clearing, and it was here that he could unleash himself.

Taking off the cloak, the burning almost overwhelmed him, but his wand quickly flashed and a spurt of water shot out of the pool like a fountain. His head slowly cleared, and with the flick of his wrist, several smaller streams split off from the central one. In spite of the stinging and throbbing, it felt good. The feel of magic flowing over him was as refreshing as it had been the previous evenings. After long days of frustration, coming here to this secret grove was the only thing keeping him from going mad. Twisting his wand, the strands of water spun around themselves before plunging back into the pool with hardly a splash.

The Elder Wand continued to burn and pull, and Harry felt alive. With the deftest of flicks the ground exploded. Dirt and dust and grass went flying through the air, and within the debris stood seven great pillars. Thinking back to his duel with Voldemort he cast a spell that was used against him. It was dark magic, very dark, but that meant little to him anymore. From the end of his wand crawled shadows that reached through the air like grasping hands. They surrounded the earthen pillars like a storm, churning with their malice and eating away at the magical constructs until they crumbled and vanished. Circling once more counterclockwise, the shadows vanished and everything returned to as it once was.

He could hardly stand the touch of the Elder Wand, as it burnt like an iron rod in his hand. Breathing deeply, he prepared for a spell that had saved his life on separate occasions. It was wild and untamed and nature in all of its fury, but still he worked to bring it under his control. He could feel the clouds gathering and the breeze pick up, whipping his dark hair across his face. Soon he was at the center of a fearsome storm that tore at the roots of the trees so that they groaned, bucking under his will wanting nothing more than to break free and wreak havoc. Clamping down, the wand blistering his skin, Harry commanded the storm to condense, and directed it towards the moonlit pool. Slowly, the winds obeyed and tightened around him, and he clenched his teeth in pain. They moved off to the pool, lifting water as they did so. Harry groaned, it felt as though there was a hold being burned through his hand. _I can't…_ Suddenly it was too much, and the Elder Wand dropped from his hand.

Released from its leash, he felt the full fury of the storm he'd conjured as it turned on him, and for a heartbeat he was terrified. But before he could so much as react, the winds vanished.

Harry scrambled for his wand, his ears still buzzing with noise. It was seconds later that he realized what he was hearing was something entirely different. It was a flapping sound. Looking up, shining against the dark sky, a white horse come riding down from the heavens on outstretched wings, and like a God on its back was an old man.

Gracefully it landed on solid ground and the man hopped off, petting the beast as he did so.

"You." Harry said accusingly.

"Me." Grindelwald smiled.

There was a blur amongst the darkness and Harry was blasted back, landing harshly at the base of a tree with no air in his lungs. He lay there gasping and staring at the stars above. His mind was a mess, but his instincts screamed at him to get up.

"How… did… you…" Harry sat up on his knees, unable to finish his question between wheezes.

Grindelwald seemed to know what he was asking. "It's not a new one. In fact, it's quite the opposite. My original." He spun the dark wand between his fingers. "At Durmstrang we were taught wands are sacred, that few things are as unforgiveable as destroying one. But what happens when a student is expelled? The wand cannot be snapped, going against the school's strict code. No, instead it is stored. And when something is stored, it can be retrieved."

"You attacked a school for a wand?"

"Not just any wand, Mr. Potter. The only wand that will faithfully respond to me." His eyes drifted to the wand in Harry's hand, and an arc of violet came shooting towards him forcing Harry to shield.

Harry countered with his own exploding curse, but Grindelwald batted it away effortlessly. Steel spikes materialized from thin air and were directed at Harry. He curved them out of his way, but not far enough as one still managed to catch him in the arm, drawing blood. Drawing from the pain, Harry ripped his wand in a cross, summoning beasts from the earth that charged at Grindelwald. As they leaped, they contorted grotesquely into avian creatures who dove back at Harry. A translucent barrier of gold sparkled to life in front of him, and as each creature crossed it fell apart into specks dust. Suddenly, a stone hand burst from the ground beneath him, closing itself around his ankle. He severed it quickly, but in his distraction there was a flash of red and a sharp pain that came with deep gash that tore into his thigh.

"You're fighting the wand." Grindelwald's voice was harsh as he spat out another curse. Harry bit back a retort, and threw a severing curse aimed at his neck. "You will never kill me without the wand, and still you fight it." He taunted.

Harry could feel the wand burning without mercy, and swallowing the pain, he threw a ribbon of air that could cut through steel.

Laughing, Grindelwald twisted and directed it at a tree, cutting through it and three others behind it. "That's much better," he said, as three black streaks came bolting from him like lightning, arcing and crackling through the dust. Spinning on his heel, Harry apparated just out of reach, seconds before they ripped deep gashes where he had only just been standing. With the ground still shaking, a great gust of flame belched twenty feet in the air, illuminating the grove with its orange haze. Like a burning serpent it twisted beneath the sky with such intensity Harry could feel his sweat steaming off his skin. Again, he could feel the wand searing his palm and pulling at him agonizingly, enough to waver his concentration. The firestorm halted, and then it was torn from his grasp.

"Weak." Grindelwald shouted. Something pierced Harry, dropping him to one knee. "Accept the wand!" A storm of spells came flying at Harry, who shielded himself in desperation. The Elder Wand only grew hotter with each spell that impacted the invisible barrier. "Do you want to die?" Above them, the fire had turned into a great, spinning vortex. Spells continued to bombard him and Harry was left cowering, gripping the Elder Wand with both hands and all his remaining strength. There was a pause, and Harry looked up to see Grindelwald shadowed in the fiery light. It seemed as though he was waiting for something. "Then die," he finally said, and in his exhaustion Harry thought the old man sounded almost sad.

The sky rained fire. Harry stood motionless, watching the red glare approach. _Accept the wand_ , a voice whispered to him, _accept the wand and its powers will be yours._ He would die in a rain of red, leaving nothing behind but ash. What would Fleur think had happened? Viktor? He could feel the heaviness of the watch in his pocket. _Accept the wand!_ It screamed at him. He was awash in flames.

Harry plunged the wand deep into the earth, and it burned. It burned like nothing had burned before. Was it the wand? Or was he burning alive? Scarlet and gold circled him, flashing and licking, and filling his lungs with smoke. He heard screaming and crackling and a deep dark rumble off in the distance. Light filled his vision, blinding him, and then everything changed. The pain was gone. The heat was gone. There was only power. It was as though the spirits of warlocks of ages past came rushing through his veins, filling him with something that felt greater than any magic before. Something was building inside him, building and building, and then the world was torn in two.

Lightning struck the pool—a single, yellow bolt the size of a tree trunk. Magic and electricity coursed through the air on some invisible web, lighting everything in its path before flashing to darkness. The fire was gone and only a queer smell remained. At the center of the steaming earth, standing and smiling was Grindelwald. "Now our work begins."

 **AN2:**

 **Thank you so much for reading, I hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too bad.**

 **Taking a break from writing was very difficult for me, especially as I felt as though I was on a role and really hitting my stride. But life gets in the way and there's not much we can do. For me, getting back into writing was even more difficult. I struggled with this chapter more so than any other I had written before. I cut, chopped, rearranged, and scrapped too many sections and drafts for me to count. And for the longest time I was hit with a lot of self doubt about not only this story, but my writing as a whole. I finally managed to overcome that and bring you this, and I hope it was worth it. Please let me know your thoughts, it means a lot to me, especially given the difficulty this chapter proved to be. Thanks, and now things should be back on track.**


	32. Chapter 32

A Beautiful Lie - Home

Gellert Grindelwald hadn't much changed in the months they had been apart. His grey-blue eyes remained cold and calculating, and his head was still shaved, revealing the ancient lines that like the rings of a tree betrayed his age. From absconding into the night, abandoning him without a single word, to swooping in on the back of a winged horse, he was still the evil man he'd broken out of Nurmengard.

Harry thought he'd come to kill him. He very nearly did, he reminded himself. He could still taste the salt and smoke on his tongue, and see the flashes of flame in his mind's eye. _It was the wand. It saved me again…_

There was hardly a moment where he was without the Elder Wand. Both night and day, the wand was sheltered in his grip. It had become almost as much a part of him, as he was of it. _And he's come to steal it from me._ Suspicion itched within him over Grindelwald's motives. Had he come to help him? Or to steal the wand from him? _He could have taken it from me a thousand times over if he wanted,_ he thought to himself, twisting the wood between his fingers.

Night after night they came to the grove to duel, or as Grindelwald liked to say, for 'tutelage'. He'd fought Death Eaters, Acromantula, Vampires, Werewolves, Inferi, and even Voldemort himself, yet nothing proved to be half so grueling as what Grindelwald did to him.

"How…?" he remembered asking, spitting up phlegm and blood, before coughing through the pain of what he later learned to be a broken rib. "How did you lose?"

The old warlock stood a dozen feet off at the center of a crater they had torn into the earth. He stilled, and for a moment Harry thought he might not have heard. But then he spoke, a soft whisper than rose over the smoke in the air. "Anyone can lose," he said.

"But how? Harry was insistent, and grunted as he stood to move closer. "You had the wand. How did Dumbledore beat you?" For every spell he cast, Grindelwald had a counter. Every trap he thought to have cleverly laid, another had been set for him to walk willfully into. He'd only ever felt so small and completely lacking in the presence of Dumbledore. Knowing what he did, it sent a shudder of fear down his spine to think of how far they would have pushed each other if not for their falling out.

Half-seen, shrouded in smoking mists, Grindelwald had looked old and worn for the first time in their many evenings. "Duels are not won by spells alone, and there are other ways to victory. True magic is esoteric and beyond our comprehension, but if there was someone who could gleam an understanding of it all, it was Albus. And that is what made all the difference in the end."

He still could not make sense of it all. Grindelwald was powerful, more powerful than he'd imagined Dumbledore to ever be. _How did he lose?_ The question continued to burn inside him. The wand was his now, its strength had joined with his own—a connection that ran deeper than his old Holly wand. If Grindelwald lost, did that mean he could as well? Looking down its length and the elderberries that sprawled along its spine, Harry wondered, _is this not enough to defeat Voldemort?_ It was possible, and that terrified Harry. Grindelwald worked him to the ground each evening, and was always careful not to disarm him. Voldemort would not be so considerate.

Squishing a green, spotted mushroom beneath his heel, Harry watched its acidic juices squirt over the grass, eating away at the greenery until there was nothing left but sand. It had been a spell taught to him by Grindelwald, one that had roots in the magic of druids. Slowly, their order had gone extinct, and those that remained were increasingly hermitic, but the magic lingered and it responded very well to the Elder Wand. Perhaps it was its origin and the tree it had once belonged to, but the wand commanded nature as if it was its own.

That didn't stop Grindelwald from besting him once again, though much closer than it had once been. It took nearly being blinded by the juices of one of the fungi for the duel to be brought to a close. His clothes were dotted with holes, burnt through to show yellow, blistered skin beneath, and he didn't want to think of what it could have done to his eyes.

Under his breath, he muttered the counter curse, the words coming out in an endless stream. Across the grove they had sprouted, on rocks, on trees, and some several feet into the air, so large their caps could be used as a seat. As fast as they had proliferated into existence, they now shrunk, pulled into the earth and out of sight. _Good riddance,_ Harry thought, rubbing tenderly at his damaged skin. _This will be a tough one to explain if the Dittany doesn't work._

Just off in the distance where the trees thickened into the forest, Harry could see the faint light of Fairies twinkling amongst the branches. The area had come to be so saturated with magic that creatures came to feed off the land. Now, it was a common occurrence to see Pixies buzzing in the sky, pulling at each other's ears, and gnomes tumbling about their holes. One afternoon, there had even been an ill-tempered Bowtruckle that poked him rather unforgivingly for treading too close to his tree.

Resting gently against a stump, Harry's left hand fiddled with his watch. The silver glowed in the night, its dials telling him the sun would rise in the coming hours. It was heavy in his hand, a constant weight, just as it had been since learning its grim history. He thought of Viktor. His friend had visited a week after his birthday, coming to apologize for his behavior that night, and not a second went by where Harry's nerves weren't on edge thinking that somehow Viktor would know that Grindelwald was there; that his guilt would be spelt across his forehead for the Bulgarian to see. He couldn't remember speaking the entire time, so fearful that the truth would come spilling out his mouth the moment it opened.

"Why are you always holding that?" Grindelwald's voice came from the direction of the pool. It wasn't the wand he was speaking of. He knew why Harry kept hold of that.

"A gift," Harry responded.

"I gathered that, yes. But what does this _gift_ signify, so that it finds your hands at every opportunity? Was it from that lovely French girl of yours?"

Harry gave a short nod. "In part," he admitted. He was too tired to fight Grindelwald's games.

"Ah… then it's not a token of everlasting endearment." Grindelwald seemed amused. "Perhaps it's a symbol of a promise that must be kept?" Harry shook his head. "A simple gift then?"

"I don't think it was given with any particular meaning behind it," said Harry.

"But _you_ hold some, that is obvious enough." He crossed his legs on the grass and sat across from Harry. It was strangely casual.

There was a pause. "You killed the person who owned this watch before me."

Grindelwald smiled, his teeth sharp and white in the moonlight. "Does that mean anything to you?" he asked.

Harry did not want to answer, and deflected instead. "Does it mean anything to you?"

"It's a funny thing, really," the old wizard started after a long draw of silence, "when you kill a man, that is. I've killed worse before, women and children, but it's always the men that cause problems. There's always a hint of heroism that people like to believe in, but the truth is, men rarely die bravely." He closed his eyes in that instant, leaning his head back as if to savor the moment. "Most die cowards. Screaming for their lives—to take another's instead of their own. Or pleading about their families, and crying to their mothers for some sort of mercy. It's all very messy. Then there are those who swear to be loyal, to join your cause and forever be faithful, forsaking everything they ever stood for. Those deserve death the most. I've seen all manners of deaths. The rarest of them all is when a man shows true courage and stares death in the face, accepting what has come."

In the silence that followed, Harry wondered if that was how his father had died. He'd always been told so. _Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off…_ He could still hear the voice of James Potter through the dread of the Dementors. To stare death in the face with courage… And what was Voldemort if not death?

"But sons… they always look for the hero in the stories of their fathers. Grasping onto the belief that they sacrificed their lives for another and fought valiantly to the bitter end. When you kill a man, sons will spit on you for generations, and your name will be enough to inspire murder over some old man they never met. Kill a man, and you become a symbol. For them, it's everything… but for me? I don't even remember their faces."

"He says he'll kill you," Harry replied.

"Who? This Viktor Krum. Let him try." Grindelwald laughed, old and deep and loud. "It's always personal for them, but it never was for me. It's war. His vengeance is empty, and the sooner he realizes that the better for him."

Grindelwald moved as though to get up, when Harry spoke suddenly. "He says he wants kill both of us."

That stopped him, and he turned back with a look of deep interest. "He said he wanted to kill you?"

"Not directly," Harry corrected himself. "He said he would kill whoever was helping you."

"And this bothers you? I suppose you think he will uncover the truth."

"It's inevitable." The truth made Harry sick to his stomach.

"It's not so uncommon as you think, friends wanting to kill each other," Grindelwald said, staring up beyond the trees. He appeared to be lost in thought, as silence settled over them for some time. "The matter is whether they can follow through with their desires." He broke the silence, and picked himself up off the grass.

With his mouth, Grindelwald made an odd whistling sound, and through the trees his white Abraxan emerged. Trotting tall and proud, it nestled against its master's side. He turned back to Harry a final time. "It's time we return to Britain."

Harry stepped back in surprise, the pace of his heart starting to pick up. "When?" he asked, unable to keep his voice level.

"As soon as we can," Grindelwald replied, settling on his mount. "Wallowing in this place does you no good. Our time here has passed. You must grow, and that can only be done by facing that which forced you to flee." With two mighty bursts, the Abraxan took off and sailed away in the morning sky. Splashes of yellow and orange could be seen mixing with the black, and Harry knew it was past time for him to return. _And say my goodbyes it seems,_ he thought.

Beyond anything, Harry felt relief. Relief that he was no longer running away. Relief that the time had come for him to act. A fire burned deep inside him, a combustion of excitement and anticipation. The Elder Wand hummed pleasantly in his hand, and Harry readjusted his grip, pulling it closer to his body. It was time, finally, to come home—leaving the one he'd found for the one he'd lost.

He would see his friends again, the ones he loved so dearly. Ron's bright eyes and freckled face floated in front of him, and he could smell the ink that stained the tips of Hermione's fingers. The twins' laughter echoed across the open meadow, while the dirt beneath his feet shifted with each step, reminding him of the dark stains Neville could never seem to get out of his robes. And as the moon faded away, he could see Luna's pale eyes, dreaming of things unseen, and the rising sunlight streaked red, like Ginny, across the sky. He'd missed them terribly, and only now on the brink of his return, did he understand just how much.

But something cold took hold of his heart. Nothing was the same. He wasn't the same. It was war… _and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_ … The fateful words whispered in his ears, as he reached to the spot of his scar, tracing the faint line that remained. _I'm marked,_ he told himself. _I'm not returning for them. I'm returning for him._ The wand burned hotter.

Harry felt oddly light on his feet as he returned, the weight of knowing where his future lay taken off his shoulders. He'd always known his destiny, but now the first steps of the path were clear.

The orange glow of lights shone through the windows of the Delacour home as he approached. It must have been an early morning for Laurent. Taking off his cloak, Harry slipped into the house, looking to briefly greet the kindly man before quickly changing and catching a few hours of sleep. The house was as still and silent as it always tended to be when he returned from the grove. However, something stopped him as he padded down the hallway. Sniffing the air, he realized that he couldn't place the familiar burn of Laurent's coffee. Checking the kitchen, he found it empty; the kettle was off, the table was cleared, and he could see the chairs tucked in around the room… and that was when he knew the room wasn't as empty as he thought it to be. Sitting in the corner, weighing him with her eyes, was Fleur.

"Where do you go?" she demanded.

Harry didn't answer. In the low light, she cut a disarming figure, with long legs peeking out beneath a loose robe, the folds parting high up along her thigh. She was dangerously beautiful, and with her pale eyes shimmering like ice, he knew that was never more true than now. The wings of butterflies fluttered against his stomach as a sudden sense of nervousness came to life within him. _How do I tell her?_ He wondered, still taking in the sight of her.

"Every night you leave, do not think I don't notice," she said, uncrossing her legs and standing. The gown nearly fell off her shoulder.

"I'm only going for walks." It was a half-truth. He hated lying to her. "It helps clear my head. I don't sleep well."

For a heartbeat he thought he saw her eyes soften, but it quickly gave way to suspicion. She walked steadily towards him. "Then what is this?" she asked. One hand reached out to his chest, while the other clutched the fabric of her gown together. He looked down in time to see her finger move across a burn under his collar, the skin beneath already starting to peel. "Why do you do this to yourself?" Her voice was so soft.

"I need to train," Harry said, stepping away. He re-gripped the Elder Wand along his side. Fleur's eyes followed his movement.

"Why is your wand out?" she asked, and a look of concern took hold of her face. She stepped forward once again. "'Arry, what is wrong?" Her hand reached out for his.

The wand burned, and Harry snatched it away from her. "Don't." His voice was rough and low. A second passed, and the rush of anger he felt disappeared, leaving him contrite. "I…" he paused, trying focus himself. "I need to go."

"Go?" Fleur looked taken aback, her features scrunched up in confusion. "I don't understand…" Her arms fell to her side, and the fabric split, revealing the soft skin of her cleavage.

Harry swallowed. _I have to tell her._ The words were stuck in his throat. He tried to clear it, but that did little to help. _I don't want to leave her_ , he realized. For so long, they'd danced around one another, never committing to this indescribable _thing_ held between them. It hung in the air, building like static, and now all he needed to do was reach out and take it, but he couldn't. _I have to leave her._ "I'm going back." He finally said. "Back to Britain."

Fleur didn't move, her body frozen in time. "But Britain is dangerous."

"And that's exactly why I need to go. This needs to end." He'd made his mind in that moment. Grindelwald had been right, this place did him no good. The world around him blurred, and his mind took him back to a similar time. A time where he had left her before. "You always knew this was coming." He felt the need to explain himself.

Fleur shook her head, and brushed wisps of silver hair out of her face. "I thought you'd come to realize what you had with us. What you had with me. You don't need to leave, you never do."

"I do," he said sadly. Harry settled himself and breathed deeply. "The prophecy says that it's either him or me. I didn't lie when I said it broke, but I did when I said nobody heard it. It has to be me to kill Voldemort. It can only be me." Dumbledore had died with the secret; it was time another knew. He would come face to face with Voldemort either way.

"And he can kill you."

"He'll never stop trying." Harry sighed. "I can't hide forever, Fleur. He knows a part of it, and that is enough for me to always be a threat. He can't live with that. Neither of us can."

"When are you leaving?" She asked, defeated. Her face had fallen, and her arms shook, her emotions finally breaking through.

"Today. Tomorrow. Soon is all I know."

Fleur nodded.

"Why don't you come with me?" He couldn't help but ask, the last kindling of hope lighting his voice.

"'Arry…" Fleur brushed at her face again, and her hand came away with a sheen. "I want to, 'Arry… so badly… but I can't." Gooseprickles ran down her skin, and Harry wanted to reach out and touch them. He wanted to take her in his arms, feel her skin and body through the thinness of her shift, and kiss away her tears. But he didn't. He couldn't change her mind like that.

"I understand," said Harry. There wasn't much else to be said. They'd made their choices.

"At least we are leaving on better terms this time." Fleur tried to smile, but the tears streaming down her face were anything but jovial.

He looked at her again, up and down. She was so beautiful it made his heart hurt. "And this time you'll know where to find me. I won't be hiding."

"I know you won't."

Harry wanted to leave, but found he couldn't, not yet. A certain madness took hold of him, one that couldn't bear to have her learn of this without him saying something. "Fleur, I… I've done some things- some bad things. Things I'm not proud. That make me sick. But I've done them."

"'Arry, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I can't say. Not now. But if things go the way I think they will, then I think you'll find out anyway. Please, Fleur, when you find out, promise me…"

"Promise you what?" She sounded concerned, her body tense and unsure.

Harry could feel a pressure building behind his eyes. "Promise me… Promise me you won't think I'm a bad person. Just know I didn't want to hurt anybody."

Fleur grabbed him and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. "'Arry, I could never think you are a bad person." She kissed him again, on the corner of the mouth. "Never. You were always the best of us. No matter what it is, I am yours."

Harry swallowed thickly, and nodded. He needed to leave, but found himself saying one last thing. "Tell Viktor, I'm sorry." _I'm so, so sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me._

He left after that, and went up to his room, leaving Fleur in broken solitude. He ran Dittany over his wounds and watched as they closed, but found that a sharp pain remained long after they healed. He'd slept well in those few remaining hours, and woke to a day near as splendid as the rest. The mokeskin pouch fit snuggly around his neck, holding the entirety of his worldly possessions. Apolline greeted him as she always had, book in hand and with a dazzling smile, while Laurent spared him a moment to chat before heading to his work. He'd only just caught Gabrielle in time before she ran up to her room to do summer homework so that she could go flying later in the day. Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

It was another hot day, cloudless and blue, and the fresh air did well to fully wake him. He climbed up and down the green hills before reaching the Lavender field. Its sweetness filled the air, forcing a smile to Harry's face, but the longer it lingered, the scent left him with sorrow. He bent over, and picked a single flower, placing it gently in his pouch. Behind him, it gradually disappeared into a purple line on the horizon as he walked towards the grove. The magic of the air caressed his skin, and at the center, beside the pool, stood Grindelwald and his faithful steed.

"You came," he said, his hand running through a snow white mane.

"You told me to," Harry said.

"I thought you might have needed more convincing." His keen eyes watched him closely.

"I don't have any more time to waste."

"A wise decision." He nodded sagely, before a smirk spread across his lips. "I do wonder, though, how your beauty took it."

Harry shot the old man a glare, and clenched his fist around the Elder Wand.

Grindelwald threw his head back in laughter. "Well, it is past time I made my return to British soil. So much history there. And such sweet memories."

"Are you going to fly there?" Harry asked.

Grindelwald looked over to the horse. "I think so," he replied, "I've grown quite fond of him. I'll allow you the time to reacquaint yourself with your comrades."

Harry nodded, both surprised and thankful. He needed a few days, at least, to come up with some sort of plan of action.

"The question remains where we shall meet on my arrival? I would hope you know of some safe places," Grindelwald added.

Harry could have laughed. _For the first time ever, I might just be able to get one over him._ "I know just the place," he said with a mischievous grin, and with a spin, he was gone.

 **AN:**

 **I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, it seems that I'm back in the swing of things now. This was the end of the mini continent arc, and now we're heading back to Britain for the home stretch. There's still quite a number of chapters left (I have no estimate other than a lot), but things are gradually going to build towards the end now.**

 **Do let me know your thoughts! Your reviews are much appreciated, and help keep a writer motivated.**


	33. Chapter 33

A Beautiful Lie - Resurrected

The castle stood as it had for hundreds of years. The old, cracked stone of its turrets and buttresses peeked above the tree line, awash in a gloomy orange haze. It was a somber sight, one steeped in dreams and old memories that left him with a heavy heart. At times, he wondered if any of the pleasant ones were real, or if it had all been some great tragedy.

Harry remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on the castle. He'd been so small and afraid, surrounded by strange people in a place he wasn't sure was real, his only comforts being the company of a half-giant and his freckled friend. He'd been so caught up in the boats moving on their own that he'd almost missed his first glimpse—rising from the lake, lit up against the black night and glowing with life and magic, was Hogwarts in all of its brilliance.

Though standing, it was a ruin now. A shell remained, and like a wounded beast its innards were torn and strewn across the ground. _Battered… but not broken,_ he thought to himself as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. _Was the battle really this bad?_ He could only remember flashes of that day, and already that was too much. In the approaching dusk, the holes that were cut into the fortress looked like gaping black wounds, and rubble marked by spellfire spilled into crumbling mounds below. He'd never thought to see it like this. _Hogwarts is the safest place in the world…_ Harry could hardly count the number of times he'd been told so. It seemed a joke now. In his mind, Harry could almost hear the distant echo of a familiar laugh, shrill and high and cruel. Instead, the castle stared back at him as silent as death. Nowhere was safe. Harry had learnt that brutal lesson many times in his life.

The sound of old parchment crinkled in his hand, as the Marauders Map was sprawled open, its lines shifting and changing, his eyes scanning its wrinkled surface. Hogwarts was empty. He wasn't sure what exactly he had been looking for, perhaps a stray Death Eater picking around the battleground like a crow, or a friendly face he could take heart in knowing survived. An unsettling feeling creeped over him. It was strange, for the first time in his life, the castle was a stranger to him. Friend or foe? He didn't know which it belonged to.

The main gates stood in front of him, and with each step, he could feel the ancient protections of the castle pressing in around him. Harry cocked his head in interest. When he'd been flashed away by Fawkes, the enchantments protecting the school had been torn to shreds; but reaching out now, they felt refreshed and powerful. Clearly someone had hold of the school. Squinting, and moving closer, Harry peered through the iron bars and into the darkness that had fallen over the grounds.

He stopped, his eyes widening in surprise, and he blinked before looking again. For every gash torn into its walls, every crumbled brick and toppled archway, another section of the castle appeared to be patched together with new, white stone. In fact, the most severe damage was limited to the periphery of the castle, while the main structure itself seemed to be reinforced. His first appraisal had been mistaken. _It looks worse than it really is…_

As his eyes adjusted, he could increasingly pick out sites of repair. The more he looked, the more certain he was that Hogwarts was not as empty as it appeared to be, and the more that his insides squirmed with concern. A part of him wanted to sneak into the castle and see for himself what was going on, but the other part held him back. _The map doesn't lie,_ it whispered to him. How many times had Sirius and Remus told him the same? Perhaps that knowledge was enough to stay him for now, because he soon found himself following the familiar path back to Hogsmeade. Besides, there was someplace else he was supposed to be—a place he'd put off for long enough now.

Whispers rang around him as the leaves spread their secrets in the wind. Even now, he could see the end of summer as they floated down and crunched underfoot. Harry closed his eyes as he walked, and for one fleeting moment he felt the presence of two others beside him, their steps falling in line with his own, as they had for years down this twisting lane. Like waking from a dream his eyes snapped open, and he looked to his left and then right. _It felt so real,_ he told himself when he found nothing. He closed his again, but this time he walked alone.

 _Lumos,_ he casted, distracting himself, and the path brightened in front of him. Apparating across continents must have gotten to him, he figured; that, and his continuous lack of sleep. Shaking his head, Harry picked up his pace before he started imaging more things.

The streets were empty when he finally reached Hogsmeade, passing along rows of houses that sat alone and forgotten in the shadows. Beyond the outskirts, and moving to the center of the village, not a soul could be seen, where once crowds would linger long into the night gazing at the fantastic displays at the front of shops. It truly had become a ghost town.

The only sign of life he could find was a soft yellow glow peeking through the drawn curtains and boarded windows of The Three Broomsticks. But even then, the popular pub was as silent as a church, and the shadows that could once be seen dance invitingly beneath its crowded doors were gone, betraying the emptiness of its inside.

Harry could see his breath puff in front of his face and casted a warming charm with a twitch of his wrist, stopping the chill of autumn from crawling over him.

He'd only just passed Madam Puddifoot's, barely recognizing the peeling, grey dump, for the shop filled with so much pink it could make your eyes explode, when two sharp _cracks_ rattled windows all down the street.

Two figures, cloaked all in black, appeared in the center of the street with their wands drawn and eyes alert. They spun in the direction of Harry, only to find an empty storefront and open road. Slowly, they turned back around and leaned close, whispering inaudibly into each other's ears.

Harry stood still as a statue in the same spot he'd been in before their unexpected arrival. Huddled beneath his invisibility cloak, he kept his breath.

It felt like an eternity had passed before the two men, now much more relaxed, started walking down the main street. Harry crept after them, keeping just out of the range of their voices.

Concealed under his sleeve, the Elder Wand was burning, and a part of Harry was tempted to cut down the men in front of him and pry any sort of information he could get from them. But he knew, that the moment he did, ten men would arrive in the place of the two.

Minutes slid by, and they came to the far end of the village, where a familiar, run down building came into view, a cheap wooden pen peeking out from its back. The men stopped at the door, before knocking aggressively, sending the sign spinning rapidly overhead.

A minute went by, and they knocked again, angrily this time. Two more minutes went by and there was still no answer. Reaching into their cloaks, the men pulled out their wands and took aim at the door.

Not a moment later, the door flew open with a _bang_! The men jumped, nearly dropping their wands, and a large, stooped wizard stood over his unannounced visitors.

"What d'ya want?" he said sharply. Lines crossed his face in anger, making him a fearsome sight covered in the shadows of his doorway.

Clearly the other men thought so as well. "S-someone used m-magic in the village," one of the men stumbled.

"An' what's that got t'do with me? Probably some ol' drunkard apparating home."

"Happened in the middle of the road," the other piped up, "not in front of any shop."

"Maybe he stumbled 'round a bit before leavin', wouldn't be the firs' time." The old wizard straightened up, making himself taller, the top of his head brushing the roof of the doorway. "Now that's no reason t'come knockin' up on my door at a time like this. You lot have already chased away mos' my customers. Now bugger off!" With that final shout, he moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by the foot of one of the men.

"Now listen here, Aberforth," one of them said abruptly, recovering some of their courage, "it's not the first time that strange goings on have been happening here in Hogsmeade, and we know all about the trouble your brother's—"

"Don't ever mention my brother again." It was as though a switch had been flicked. The grumpy old wizard was now shaking with fury, and the men at his door backed away slowly, realizing they had made a huge mistake. "I don't give a toss about what my brother was! He's dead! Served th' bastard right! Don't ye ever come back 'round again unless you're lookin' to spend money on my drinks!" The door slammed shut with such ferocity that the entire inn shook, rattling its shingles and sending dirt up from the steps.

The two men looked to at one another, unsure of what to do next. This clearly had not gone to plan.

"Times are changing Aberforth, they're changing very soon," one of them shouted back, although Harry was sure Aberforth couldn't hear him, nor would he even care to, "don't start getting caught up in the wrong crowd."

Two loud cracks sounded and the men were gone, leaving Harry alone, once again, in the abandoned street.

Something was very wrong. Those men weren't Death Eaters, but they were associated with them, Harry was sure of it. Somehow, someway, they were managing to keep track of the use of magic in the village. Harry shook his head. He'd been gone too long and now things weren't making sense.

Picking himself up into a jog, he kept his cloak on, not trusting the cover of darkness to keep him hidden. Gusts of wind came whistling in from the mountains, and with them a chill that settled over Harry. He fought the urge to use magic. There was no way of knowing how far the tracking charm extended.

He knew one safe place, however, the same place he'd first apparated to on his return. It was as musty as it had been four years ago, walls clawed to shreds, littered with broken floorboards and doors hanging off of broken hinges. The Shrieking Shack was a mess, but it was better that way, away from prying eyes, too afraid of whatever haunting horror it was that fueled its legend. The Shack was protected by Dumbledore himself, the charm couldn't extend to here.

Conjuring himself a chair, Harry took a seat and closed his eyes. A part of him, the one that craved mysteries and the unknown, and had gotten him into so much trouble in his years at Hogwarts, wanted to stay behind and check out the castle. There was something in those ancient halls that called to him. But the other part of him knew it could wait.

Counting his things, and packing them away in the mokeskin pouch around his neck, Harry knew he was ready.

Twisting on the spot and slipping through space, Harry arrived on the sidewalk of a lonely muggle street. Cars were parked across from him, their shadowed bodies only visible from the dimly lit streetlamps overhead. There was only one house with nothing in front of it, left alone as though forgotten; a house that only he could see.

A strange feeling squirmed around his insides. Harry laughed, his voice echoing down the lane. He stood, hand frozen over the knocker, where a rusty number 12 was inlaid on the door. Was this why he kept hesitating, because he was nervous? He felt almost stupid.

Quickly getting over himself, his hand darted to the doorknob, opening it with a twist. There was a soft _click_ before the heavy, oaken door creaked open on its own. He was assaulted with blackness, thicker and darker than the cover of night outside. Not a sound could be heard from inside the house, it was as still and silent as a corpse.

Everything was as he remembered it, from the stench of dark magic that hung over the place, to the troll foot umbrella stand that had it out for Tonks, and even old Walburga Black sat in her frame on the wall (thankfully sleeping).

"I wouldn't move if I were you," grumbled an unseen voice, "and don't reach for your wand if you want to keep your fingers."

Harry's hand froze by his side, the Elder Wand thirsting for his touch. His eyes scanned the shadows that crawled along the other end of the hall, and picked out a queer ripple in the air he wouldn't have spotted if not properly looking for something. It was as though a part of the wall was coming in and out of focus.

"Smart boy," said the disembodied voice. The wall rippled again, fabric slipped, and an electric blue eye was focused solely on him. "So how is it, that Harry Potter is standing here, in the flesh, when he's dead?"

"Mad-Eye?" Harry said, only slightly shocked.

"The one and only," the ex-Auror grumbled, as he stood from where he'd been hunkered in the corner. Harry didn't see a wand, but he knew one was pointed at him. "You're dead, boy."

"That's news to me," Harry laughed, patting himself down to show that he was, in fact, here and solid. "I'm alive Moody, never die—" Harry paused, not knowing if that was true or not, "—I was just… gone."

"You're going to have to do better than that, I haven't lived this long for no reason. I don't trust dead men."

"Alright," Harry smirked, he knew just the thing, " _Dobby_!"

Not a second later, a wailing elf appeared, sucking to Harry's leg like a leach, as fat, silver tears splattered to the floor. "Master Harry Potter!" Dobby cried, "Master Harry has returned! Dobby did as you pleased, sir, Dobby lied, Dobby did not tell anyone of sir's orders."

A second _pop_ was heard, far later and far less enthusiastic than the first. "Half-blood Master has returned," Kreacher croaked with a bow, "Kreacher did as told." The old elf looked between Harry and Dobby with a mixture of jealousy and disgust.

"So you got your elves to lie to us?" Moody said sharply.

Harry looked up and met his eye square. He wasn't going to argue his reasons.

Mad-Eye held his stare and then gave a short nod. "I've got a few calls to make," he grumbled under his breath, before limping out of the room.

Harry took the next few minutes to extract Dobby from his leg, and ask if he would like to make up a small meal (to which he was more than happy to do). "Kreacher," he called out suddenly, catching the elf slinking away, "stay," his mind immediately went to the locket, Voldemort's horcrux, "I'll be needing to speak to you later about something important. Until then, clean up the house, it looks like it hasn't seen life in months."

The elf looked at him strangely before bowing deeply, "Kreacher lives to serve."

Harry only just had time to catch his breath, when he heard a great rush from the direction of the dining room, followed by a series of shouting. A commotion was brewing, and loud, stomping footsteps were sprinting down the hall, "Harry!" a familiar voice yelled, "Harry!" A bedraggled shock of bright orange hair came spinning around the corner.

"Ron…"

The name slipped out of his mouth, and before he knew it, he was being crushed in an embrace that lifted him off the ground. His body was numb, so overcome with emotion, and words were trapped in his throat, fighting to all come out at once.

"Harry," he could hear his name again, but this time not from Ron. In fact, he was sure he could hear dozens of different voices bouncing around him.

Opening his eyes for the first time, glistening freckles were in front of him, as shining tears leaked from his best friend's blue eyes. "You're alive…" Ron breathed, touching his face, making sure he was real.

Feeling was gradually returning to his body, and he soon realized that they weren't alone in their embrace. Twin sets of arms were wrapped around them as well, as Fred and George were sniffling along, but if they were making fun of Ron, he wasn't sure, yet.

"Back off, back off, give the boy some room," Moody's voice cut over the top of everyone else's. The clumping of his wooden leg circled the room, giving away his impatience. "I want to hear what Potter's got to say."

"Alastor—" the voice of Mr. Weasley interjected.

"We're not here to coddle the boy, Arthur. This is war, and what he's got to say is important."

Releasing him from his embrace, Ron stood to Harry's side. "Merlin's sake, Mad-Eye, Harry just got back to us, give him some time to rest."

"You can drink cocoa by the fire and play catchup later, Weasley, what matters most is where the bloody hell Potter's been the last five months."

Ron made to speak again, but Harry put out his hand to stop him. "Before I start," he said loudly, clearing his throat, "I'd like to know why everyone thinks I'm dead."

Glancing around the room, he could still see the looks of utter disbelief written across everyone's faces; Mrs. Weasley was dabbing herself with a dishrag, Ginny's jaw hung open, and Kingsley's dark eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

"It's because, by all accounts, you should be… at least it appeared that way," Mr. Weasley spoke up from the side of the room, rubbing his hand through his balding hair and giving Harry a sad smile. "The battle at Hogwarts was chaos, nobody knows for sure what happened. We saw the standoff between you and Dumbledore and You-Know-Who, but then there was an explosion of fire and we couldn't see anything. By the time it cleared, you and Dumbledore were gone, and You-Know-Who was lying there injured. The remaining Death Eaters came running over and fled with him." Mr. Weasley reached over to borrow his wife's rag, patted his head and sat down. "Weeks went by without any word, and we thought, maybe, that you and Dumbledore had gone off on a mission. But then, one day, the Ministry got word of an attack in a muggle neighborhood and I recognized your Aunt and Uncle's house, despite it being nothing more than a stack of timber at the time. When we came back, however…" Mr. Weasley stopped, and he began to pat madly at the sweat streaming down his forehead. He looked positively green, and every time he opened his mouth to speak, he immediately closed it and started patting his head again.

"It's alright, Arthur," Kingsley spoke up from across the room, in his deep, soothing tone. "What happened when we came back from Privet drive was nothing short of a nightmare. It was you we found in the atrium of the Ministry: mutilated, half-charred, and so saturated with dark magic that you were melting into the floor before our own very eyes. Of course there was the hope that it wasn't truly you, but that vanished when we found your wand, broken, beside your body."

"My wand?" Harry almost shouted. "Do you still have it?"

"I do," said Ron from his side, with cheeks glowing red, "I've got it back home."

"I think we caught little Ronnie sleeping with it one night," George teased from beside his father.

"Certainly did, there was no mistaking it. Might have drooled a little on it too, I'd check if I were you Harry," Fred winked.

"Alright, you got your story," Mad-Eye interjected, "now where is Dumbledore?" Everyone around the room seemed to prick up in attention to this.

Harry's heart stopped. _Oh no…_ he thought, looking around at the hopeful faces, _I'm trading one life for another._ Nobody seemed to notice the look of dread on his face.

"He must have gone off searching for something," Mad-Eye continued, "a weapon, anything, and don't start telling me he hasn't been in contact with you."

"He's dead…" Harry said in a whisper and everything went silent. "He's dead," this time he repeated it louder.

"He can't be." It was Kingsley who spoke and others murmured in agreement.

"He died at Hogwarts."

"Nonsense, the Fidelius is still up! And where is his body then?"

Harry flicked his wrist, and the Elder Wand fell gently into his palm. "Voldemort killed him," Harry said, holding out the wand for all to see. A series of gasps went around the room. "He had his body taken away so it couldn't be reached and… I'm the secret keeper now, Dumbledore transferred it to me some time ago."

"It's over then, innit," the voice came from someone Harry hadn't noticed until now; grubby, old Mundungus Fletcher standing shadily in the corner.

"Nothing's over," Moody snarled, "We've been operating without Dumbledore for months and now we've got Potter back. Dumbledore always said he was our greatest hope." Moody said the last part with conviction, but Harry wasn't sure if he quite fully believed it.

At that moment, the tinkling of metal on metal could be heard from the kitchen doorway, just as Dobby came strolling in with a tray of tea and biscuits, and a nice roast beef sandwich for Harry.

Molly, likely not wanting to be outdone, quickly took it upon herself to whip up a midnight meal for everyone present.

Pretty soon, bowls of piping hot soup and platters of more sandwiches than you could count were being handed out around Grimmauld Place. Everywhere, small groups were clustering together, discussing the day's most recent developments, and Ron had somehow managed to steal Harry away, along with a plate brimming with food.

Harry did well to tell as much as he could, while giving away as little as possible. He'd distracted Ron with tales of Remus and his family, the werewolf pack and their fight against the vampires, and skimmed very quickly over his travels around France. He was lucky that Ron, so pleased to see his best mate alive, was content enough to ignore his purposeful vagueness.

"Not much been going on around here," Ron said, starting to fill Harry in, "One person's been left on guard duty just in case—that was Moody tonight—but we had to stop using this dump as headquarters a couple months back."

"Why's that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, with us not knowing you were secret keeper, and still thinking it was Dumbledore—hard to believe he's actually dead, you know—we kept using it for a little while once we knew it was safe. But the Order has grown lots lately, and without the secret keeper, we couldn't bring them in. Can't really have a headquarters, if a dozen of your members don't know it exists."

Harry laughed and grabbed another sandwich. "Who's joined?" Harry asked between bites. If he was secret keeper, he would have to meet them eventually.

"Let's see…" Ron tapped at his chin, thinking, "there's Tonks' new boyfriend, that Auror—"

"Fardale?" Harry said.

"Yeah, Fardale, that's the guy," Ron confirmed, "we've picked up a few more Ministry people working in different departments, and, oh, Neville's joined too!"

"That's great!" Harry was quite proud thinking of their brave friend.

"He's actually where we found our temporary headquarters. He said it used to be where his parents lived, and that they would've wanted the Order to use it. Doesn't have the Fidelius on it, or anything, but it's safe enough."

"He doesn't come by too often though, visiting there makes him sad, and he's hiding the fact that he's an Order member from his gran too," a new voice said from the side. "Hi Harry," Ginny waved.

Harry waved back, and conjured a seat for her with a twist of his wand. Ron and Ginny stared at him. "What?" he said, feeling like he did something wrong.

"Nothing," Ron shook his head and chuckled, "I just forgot how bloody good you've gotten at magic. Still can't believe I saw you going spell for spell with You-Know-Who. I'm so used to us getting outscored by Hermione…" Ron trailed off silently, his eyes staring at the table, glassy and unfocused.

Harry looked between the two siblings and saw the Ginny wore a look of concern.

The chair scarped back and Ron rose to his feet, suddenly, "I'm, er, going to see if mum needs any, uh, help cleaning up," he rattled off quickly, before leaving in a direction that wasn't the kitchen.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked.

"It's…" Ginny looked around nervously, "it's just a difficult time. Everyone has something that's eating away at them, most just don't want to come out and admit it. Take a look at Bill—" Harry turned to where Ginny was pointing; Bill could be seen talking in hushed voices with his father at the entrance of the dining room, "—Bill's been beating himself up over Phlegm for months. He seems to think it's all his fault."

Guilt thickened in his gut, and Harry fought hard to keep his face straight. "Oh, I forgot, you wouldn't know about that," Ginny said, her voice bitter, "after the battle at Hogwarts, Phle—Fleur… disappeared. Bill and mum were worried sick for weeks, I can't even count the number of letters he sent out, hoping she might send him one back saying she was alright. We thought she died. Turns out she ran away. Abandoned us. Left Bill, her fiancé, alone without a word." Harry's mask cracked, but Ginny must have mistaken his look for something else. "I always knew I was right for hating her. Mum tried you know? Tried to like Phlegm, it was never easy, but she tried her best, and now she can't hear her stupid French name without crying. I think Bill still hopes that she'll come back, like nothing's happened," her voice went soft as she gazed tenderly at her eldest brother, "but a little while ago, I overheard dad talking to a few Order members, saying that there were rumors she was an ICW agent who came over to gather information about the war."

Harry felt sick, and this time, it was him who was standing up from the table, and excusing himself in a hurry, not wanting to be around people any longer. He wasn't sure he could ever look Bill in the face again.

Taking the stairs, two at time, he rushed into the bedroom he always stayed at when the Order came to Grimmauld Place. Ron stood at the far end of the bedroom by the window, his trunk open by his feet, tying something to the foot of his owl, Pigwidgeon. Harry stepped forward and saw it was a letter.

"Who's that for?" he asked while claiming the empty bed.

Ron blushed something furiously. "Erm, well, it's for, uh," he pulled at his collar uncomfortably, "my girlfriend… Lisa." Harry tilted his head and looked at Ron curiously. "We started dating—in secret mind you—er, last year, and you're back now and I wanted to tell her and she's part of the Order too, by the way, and—"

"Alright, Ron, I get it," Harry doubled over laughing, "send your damn letter."

Ron mumbled something he couldn't hear, before tossing the tiny owl out the window and collapsing on the bed across from him. There was a moment of silence that hung precariously between them, and then, as if a pin pricked a balloon, they burst into hysterics.

It seemed several minutes went by before they regained control of themselves. Ron let out a long, and deep sigh, "Look at us, starting to grow up," he said.

"I guess so," Harry chuckled, "but some things never change. We'll be bunking together until the Cannons win the league."

Ron snorted.

"Congrats," Harry continued, "I mean it, good for you on finding a smart Ravenclaw who can do all your homework for you _and_ snog you at the same time."

A pillow came flying at Harry's head, which he dodged.

"Thanks mate," Ron said, catching the pillow as Harry threw it back. "I really like her a lot, she's been good to me."

Harry hummed to himself. "You know," he said suddenly, "it's funny, I always thought you and Hermione would end up together."

Ron didn't answer.

"It's not like I was the only one, I'm certain half the school had the two of you down as the next pair to be caught in a broom cupboard."

Again, nothing was said, and this time Harry peeked over to see what was wrong. Just as it had been in the kitchen, Ron's face wore the same stony and distant look.

A cold sensation shot down Harry's spine. "Ron," he said, with a touch of urgency, "Ron," he repeated when there was no answer, "what happened to Hermione?"

There was a screech from the window that drew Harry's attention, and from where Pigwidgeon left, Hedwig came flying in. The surge of joy that coursed through him at the sight of his long lost friend, disappeared when he saw the tidy scrawl on the letter she clutched between her talons. Ron stared at the letter with blank eyes and a trickle of fear filled Harry's heart, it was from Hermione…

 **AN:**

 **Wow it's been a while. Truth is, my life has changed massively in the last 6 months. Still love writing, and that will never change.**

 **I saw a few people asking for an author's note update, and here's what I have to say about that. The only time you will get an update that is solely an author's note, is if my work is abandoned. So as long as there isn't AN, that means the story is good and I'm still slaving away, trying to bring it to a satisfying conclusion. I've got some ideas (I think they're pretty damn good), they're just hard to get down at times, for different reasons. Next update should almost certainly be coming faster than this one.**

 **As always, please leave me reviews and let me know your thoughts on the update and the story as a whole. Your comments are what keep me going!**


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